


You Are My Only

by DoctorBilly



Series: Sea Glass and Tattoos [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1850431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is on a mission. He is looking after Billy Wiggins, who has turned out to be quite important to Mycroft Holmes.</p><p>Tags: tattoos; guitars; guns; violence; pain as a coping mechanism; drug craving; consensual sex; gratuitous cookery; gratuitous 'homes and gardens' stuff</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Guns and Violets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is on a mission.

August 10th: two years after The Fall

_The flickering screen shows a rundown room in a rundown block of flats. Cracked plaster, cracked window, peeling wallpaper. A small space heater looks to be doing nothing to hold back the damp in the corners, or the cold, judging by the shivering of the man lying restlessly on a mattress in one corner. A man dressed in a nondescript greyish sweatshirt, hood pulled up to partially hide his face. For the two days he has been under observation he has not eaten anything, but he has boiled water in a saucepan and made himself what looks like herbal tea. He clutches the mug in both hands while he drinks, not putting it down, obviously using the heat to warm his fingers. He spends some time scribbling with a pencil in a sketch pad. Every so often he puts down the sketch pad and picks up a battered electric guitar, playing it finger style. There is no amplifier, he bends over the instrument, ear close to the strings. For a while, he is totally absorbed in the music he is making, then he carefully places the guitar back in its case and picks up the sketch pad again. Every so often he goes to the uncurtained window and looks out into the street, then paces around the room before throwing himself back onto the grimy-looking mattress, rolling himself in what looks like an old candlewick bedspread. He has been asleep for four hours now, but fitfully, tossing and turning._

_"Twitchy, isn't he? Looks as if he needs a fix. Are you sure he's clean?"_

_"He always looks twitchy, sir. He's clean, and reliable if he trusts you."_

_"Yes, my informant said the same thing. He'll need different clothes. Jeans, boots, jumper…Can we find out his shoe size? Better if Lestrade can just turn up with it all rather than try to take him shopping. Zoom in. We might be able to make out the size on the bottom of his trainer where his foot's sticking out there."_

_"Hmm. 45? What's that in old sizes? Eleven? He'll need underwear, a couple of t-shirts. And a coat. He looks as if he feels the cold "_

_"How tall is he? A bit over six foot? He's thin, but hard to see how thin in that hoodie."_

_"He is very skinny. A 30 waist will probably be loose on him. "_

_"Hmm. Get him something nice, Anthea. And something nice for Lestrade as well."_

 

*********

 

Detective Chief Inspector Gregor Lestrade of Scotland Yard is on a mission. A mystery parcel had been delivered to his flat that morning, followed up by a mystery text message telling him to take the contents of the parcel to a certain squat in Camden by four pm at the latest. He snorts at the mystery and phones the British Government in the form of Mycroft Holmes.

"Mr Holmes. Why all the shady stuff? Why not just ask me if you need a favour? It's not as if I've got a lot on my hands …"

Lestrade had been suspended in the wake of Sherlock Holmes's suicide, had subsequently been investigated, exonerated, reinstated and promoted. None of which made him popular with his superiors at the Yard. Or with his own team, one or two of whom had been instrumental in his suspension.

"Ah, I thought it might pique your interest more, Chief Inspector. Add a small frisson of excitement to your day. Your instructions are inside the parcel. Do not be overly concerned about your current workload - your superintendent is not unhappy about giving you sabbatical leave."

"It'll get me out from under his nose for a while, I suppose. How long will I be away? What do I need to pack, or have you arranged for that as well?"

"Your luggage will be waiting for you on the train. I suggest you take your bass guitar with you. Your travelling companion will doubtless wish to take his instrument, and it would seem appropriate for two musicians to be travelling together. I suggest you make an attempt to look like a musician, rather than a policeman, for the duration of your little jaunt. Wear your earring. It rather suits you."

Lestrade coughs, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink.

"Chief Inspector, it is very important that you get your companion to his destination safely, and that you keep him safe while he is there. Keep him happy, too if you can, but safety is paramount. Keep your eyes open."

"All right, I've got it. I'll get him there okay. Don't worry. "

Lestrade opens the parcel. Clothes, mainly. Soft, off-white jersey underpants, knee length, button fly, 1930s style. Long-sleeved thin grey t-shirt. Soft, grey loose-knit cashmere jumper, cashmere socks, dark indigo straight cut Levi jeans, waist 28 inches, long. For someone tall and thin who feels the cold, then. Taller than Lestrade's own five feet eleven. Lestrade dares a hope … Lace-up army style boots, size 45. Big feet, proportional to height. No, his feet were smaller. He sighs. Plain black leather belt, heavy, dull silvery buckle. Vintage greatcoat, long, soviet navy officer style. A bit on the warm side for August, even an August as chilly as the current one has been, even for someone who feels the cold. Trip to a cold climate? Or a long trip, possibly even extending to winter? Holmes didn't say how long the trip would last. Despatch bag, scuffed leather.

An A4 envelope addressed simply to * **Bill** *. A post-it note attached: * **to be opened on the train** * A padded envelope, addressed to * **G Lestrade** *. Inside, tickets and reservation cards for the Caledonian sleeper train from Euston to Leuchars, leaving at nine fifteen that evening.

"Where the hell is Leuchars?"

First class, Lestrade notes, a double bunk car. They won't have to share with anyone else. A debit card in his name, from a bank that isn't his. A PIN, written on a small post-it note, the digits followed by the short phrase * **EAT ME** *. Lestrade snorts. A set of house keys. A postcard with a picture of St Andrews University on one side and an address that is not that of the university on the back. A message. * **Bill and Gregor. Wish you were here. M**.*

"Bill. Tall and thin. Camden. Squat…"

Lestrade sifts through his mental name-index. Yes. Bill Wiggins, one of Sherlock's homeless network. A tall, scruffy, nondescript individual, ex-junkie, twenty five or twenty six years old, but looks older. Scared of thunderstorms, Lestrade recalls. He'd been on a drugs bust in Camden once at the height of a storm, had thought the man's panicked behaviour was due to whatever was running in his veins, but it had turned out to be terror of the lightning. Lestrade has taken to dropping by his squat if the weather is stormy, taking cardboard cups of coffee, fish and chips, cigarettes, just to sit with the young man, keep him company. He has turned out to be a useful informant more than once since, and, surprisingly, stays clean after the one time that Lestrade arrests him.

"Right then. Look like a musician, not a policeman".

Lestrade showers, soaping his body and rubbing lather into his hair. He rinses and towels off, walks to the bedroom, still naked. He appraises his body, not vainly. Strong legs, good arms, no flab there. Flattish belly, a little soft, but the muscles are still visible, if not six-pack obvious. He is lucky enough not to have developed the man-boobs that many of his contemporaries have to try to disguise. His neck is still smooth, no wattles, no double chin. His skin has a light tan almost all over. He loves the sun, and his body still carries the evidence of a summer holiday in Italy two months earlier. He considers his admittedly small range of non-work clothes, and finally dresses in faded, loose jeans and white t-shirt, red converse and scuffed leather jacket. He has been a biker on and off since his teenage years, and the wear on the jacket is authentic. He spikes up his silvery hair with gel, and slips his diamond stud into his left ear. Looks at himself again in the mirror.

"Yeah. That'll do".

He pockets the debit card and train tickets, puts the rest of the contents of the padded envelope into the inside pocket of his gig bag, along with the A4 envelope and his iPad and charger. He folds the clothes from the parcel and stows them in the despatch bag. The coat won't fit, he will have to carry that separately. He slings the despatch bag across his body, hoists his gig bag onto his shoulder, grabs the coat and lets himself out of his flat.

 

*********

 

Bill Wiggins, ex-junkie, is cold and hungry. His room is damp and chill. It is on the shady side of the house, and tends to be on the cool side, even in the summer. He feels the cold, doesn't have any insulating fat on his bony frame. He hasn't eaten for several days, and is just about at the point where he thinks his stomach is trying to eat itself. He has been drinking chamomile tea every so often, trying to ease the hunger pangs, but it hasn't worked. He skin is dried out and dirty, his hair itches. He needs something to help him feel better, but his options are zero. He used the last of his money to buy herbal tea and guitar strings a few days ago, and even if he had the money for drugs, wouldn't buy any because he made a promise to someone important. He is sitting on his grubby mattress, drawing, when Lestrade barrels up the stairs to his squat. He looks up apprehensively.

"Blimey, Mister Lestrade. Nearly didn't recognise you. What's up? I haven't done anything. I haven't heard of anything kicking off…"

"I'm sort of under cover Billy. You're going to be as well; Mr H has a job for the two of us. I've got your disguise here".

He tosses the despatch bag onto the grubby mattress. Billy's eyes widen apprehensively. Mr H is not often the source of happiness. Billy thinks he is a kind of Bond villain.

"He's got a job for me? What on earth can I do for him?"

"I don't know Billy. But I've had instructions, and we need to get cracking pretty quickly. We've got a train to catch. Get washed and changed into this stuff".

Billy tips the contents of the bag out, sees clean clothes. Notices the underwear.

"Oh. Um. Mister Lestrade, could you turn your back please? I'll need to strip off…"

His ears are pink, and getting pinker. He is self-conscious, never lets anyone see him naked, and isn't planning to let Lestrade be the first.

"Shy, Billy? Okay. Stick your head under the tap as well. Your hair needs washing. Tell you what, I'll go and get us some coffee from the cafe while you're sorting yourself out. Do NOT do a runner. I expect Mr H has got eyes on the street."

Lestrade trots down the stairs and walks the few hundred yards to the corner cafe. Orders two flat whites to take away, grabs sugar sachets and stirring sticks, then makes his way back to the squat.

Billy has washed and is dressed in jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt by the time Lestrade gets back. The jeans are tight on his hips, not really needing the belt. Tighter than he is used to, not hiding anything. The t-shirt is soft, and feels good against his skin. He is delighted with the comfortable vintage underpants. Wonders who chose them. _Not Lestrade_ , he thinks. He rubs at his black hair with the hoodie jacket he's taken off, in lieu of a towel, fluffing it up, combing it through with his fingers. He sits and put on socks and boots. A perfect fit. The boots are vintage too. Finally, he pulls the grey cashmere jumper on over his head. Sighs with pleasure at its warmth and softness. He feels the cold, even in the summer. A consequence of not eating regularly. The jumper is oversized, loose. The sleeves cover his wrists, reach the first knuckles on his large, slender hands. He thinks for a moment, then rummages in a pocket in his guitar case, bringing out half a dozen thin silver wire rings, strung with small stones, which he distributes on his fingers.

Lestrade gapes, swallows and looks away. He has never realised quite how tall this young man is. His habitual slouch is gone; standing straight, cleaned up, he looks about nineteen.

"Crikey, Billy. You've scrubbed up nicely."

"Do I look all right, Mister Lestrade? I feel a bit exposed…"

"Yeah. It's a bit different from your usual sweat pants and hoodie. How tall are you?"

"Six foot four."

Lestrade looks Billy over carefully. He looks like he's been drawn by a manga artist. Tall; thin; tight jeans over a very nice arse; oversized jumper emphasising his slightness; shaggy black hair; pale, pale skin; startling huge aqua-mauve-grey-cobalt eyes, fringed with black lashes. He grabs Billy's hands, looking at the rings.

"These are unusual. The stones pick up the colours in your eyes. Where did you get them?"

"Made them. Guitar string wire and sea glass. I pick the glass up on beaches."

"Clever sod, aren't you? I like them. You look great."

They drink their coffee while Lestrade explains what he knows of their mission, which is not much, he realises.

"Mr H says to bring your guitar. I reckon you should bring your sketch book and pencils as well. And anything else you can't bear to lose. I'm not sure how soon we'll be coming back. You might not find this place empty. The despatch bag is yours, I think. Bung your stuff in it. The coat is yours as well."

Billy moans with pleasure.  
"I hoped it was. Who chose all this stuff?"

"Possibly Mr H, but more likely his assistant. Whoever it was, they got it right".

 

*********

 

The trip from Camden to Euston is fairly short and almost uneventful. They catch the 168 bus, with only a short exchange of pleasantries between the driver and the DCI, before Lestrade remembers that his new debit card is contactless and can be used instead of an Oyster card. On arrival at the station, Lestrade steers Billy into a food concession on the concourse, where they eat pasties and bland chips, washing them down with nasty machine coffee for Lestrade and Coca-Cola for Billy. Lestrade doesn't think Billy eats regularly enough, and is keen to make sure he has food inside him before they set off on their five hour plus journey. Billy eats every crumb, and finishes off Lestrade's chips, too. He feels unpleasantly full, and a bit nauseous, but never turns down the opportunity to eat. He never knows when he might get another meal.

At eight forty-five, their train is announced, and they board, making their way to their first class compartment. There are two bunks, made up ready for sleeping. White cotton sheets and pillowcase, dark red blankets.

"You can have the top bunk, Billy."

Lestrade's attention is attracted to a large, battered leather Gladstone bag on the lower bunk. Vintage, by the look of it, embossed with gold initials * **G L** *. He opens it. One compartment holds a grey grandad-style button-neck vest, a pair of soft red-striped cotton pyjama trousers, a pair of cashmere socks and a new pair of vintage underpants, all wrapped around a travel kit of Trumper's Ajaccio Violets toiletries and an electric razor. There is also an iPhone and a small laptop and charger.

"This is for you, I guess, Billy."

"Are you sure, Mister Lestrade? This all looks a bit flash for me …"

"Looked in the mirror lately?"

"Oh. Yeah. Disguise. This violet stuff smells amazing. Why do I need a laptop?"

"There's an envelope addressed to you in my gig bag. Perhaps that'll shed some light".

Billy opens the gig bag and pulls out the envelope, sits on the lower bunk to open it. Lestrade turns his attention to the other compartment of the Gladstone bag. Small first aid kit: surgical glue, eyewash, generic painkillers, Vaseline, bandages, threaded surgical needles. He shudders. Small leather case containing a vintage safety razor, silver plated, it looks like. Modern blades, shaving brush. More toiletries,Trumper's Extract of Limes. He grins a little shark grin, showing his very white teeth. At least he isn't going to smell of violets. More pyjama trousers, grey-striped this time. Red silk socks. He snorts. Hand-knitted vintage jumper, grey, flecked with black. It will be loose on him. Another pair of underpants, soft jersey trunks this time, not vintage, and a soft white t-shirt wrapped around …

"Shit, Mycroft. What are you expecting?"

Hip holster. Heckler & Koch P2000. Spare rounds. A small gasp makes him look up. Billy is staring at the gun.

"Um, Mister Lestrade? I'm not sure how that goes with this…"

He waves his hand towards the contents of his envelope. A welcome letter from St Andrews University, a map of the campus, a student ID card; another debit card drawing on the same account as Lestrade's; three CDs, one marked * **READ ME** * ; a set of house keys.

Lestrade rummages in his gig bag for his own set of house keys and the postcard. The keys are identical.

"Looks like we have somewhere to stay. I think it must be the address on this postcard. Are you a student, Billy? What the hell are you studying if I need to be an armed bodyguard?"

Billy grabs the laptop, boots it up and inserts the marked CD, reads the single file on it, groans and bursts into tears.

"What is it mate? What's wrong?"

Lestrade sits down on the bunk next to the younger man, puts his arm around his shoulders.

"Nothing wrong, Mister Lestrade. Mr H has found my thesis. I can finish my PhD. This must be all about my research. Can I talk to you about it later? Can we get a drink? I need to get my head straight."

"PhD? You're more of a clever sod than I thought. Wait, if Mycroft is interested in your research, other people might be as well. Okay. _Eyes open, Lestrade._ Billy. Put all this studenty stuff in your despatch bag and keep it strapped to you. Leave the clothes and stuff in the other bag. Let's go to the bar car. "

He straps on the gun, covering it with the loose jumper before they leave to get a drink.


	2. You told Sherlock your troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy tells Lestrade his story

August 10th: two years after The Fall

"I expect you've got a file on me, Mister Lestrade?"

"Yeah. But it's not very thick…"

"If you tell me what you know about me, I'll fill in some gaps."

The two men had not been comfortable sitting in the bar car of the train. Lestrade had ordered two scotches, but Billy had shuddered on tasting his and Lestrade had confiscated it on the grounds of disrespect for the noble spirit, replacing it with a lager. They had sat in silence for a while before Lestrade decided it would be circumspect to order more drinks to take back to their carriage, where they could talk in privacy.

"Okay. Here's what I think I know, Billy. _Age twenty five…_ "

"Twenty six. It's my birthday today"

"Happy birthday, Billy. I'd have got you something if I'd known. Anyway, to continue… _First came under the gaze of the Met aged twenty two as victim of violent physical and sexual assault by multiple perpetrators, none of whom were arrested_  "

He looks at Billy through narrowed eyes.

"Victim refused to press charges and the incumbent DI decided not to pursue the case. He was a homophobic arsehole. I would have pursued it".

"Just as well you weren't on the case then, Mister Lestrade". 

Lestrade blinks. 

" _Squatter. Ex junkie, weapon of choice heroin._ Never a dealer, as far as I know".

"Never a dealer". 

_"Ex crystal meth chef."_

Billy nods, shame clear on his face.

 _"Arrested by DI Lestrade at age 23 on charge of cooking aforesaid crystal whilst under the influence of weapon of choice. No conviction due to mysterious lack of hard evidence when meth lab exploded_ ".

"I was lucky it was you in charge of the case that time. You made me see what I was turning into."

Lestrade shrugs

"You reminded me of someone. _Apparently clean of drugs since arrest, although still on the drugs scene, "keeping an eye" on other junkies. Helped to prevent at least one death from overdose. No further arrests despite being present at several drug busts._

_Key member of one S Holmes's homeless network._

_Provided very useful information on occasion to aforementioned Holmes and to DI, now DCI Lestrade. Refused payment from Lestrade, therefore not on books as informant. No official protection provided by the Met._

Clearly, unofficial protection, or something, being provided by relative of aforementioned Holmes."

Lestrade pauses, raising an eyebrow

"Very, **very** scared of thunderstorms…"

 

"That's pretty much everything since I came back from Cambridge."

"Not everything, Billy. I have questions. Some might be stupid…"

"Ask"

"All right. How have you stayed clean for three years? It's unusual for someone as deep in the scene as you not to relapse…how do you make a living now? Not from cooking drugs, not from dealing, not from informing…"

"I've stayed clean 'cause you told me I had to, or you'd stop coming round to chat. I like our chats. Haven't got many people I can have a chat with. I get a bit of a craving every so often, but there are ways of getting kind of high that don't involve drugs. You know that, you've been a biker, speed does it… some kinds of pain will do it, thrashing a guitar will do it, getting in a mosh pit will do it…"

"Sex? I've heard that can do it. You're not renting yourself out, are you Billy? Pain and sex?"

"No, Mister Lestrade. I'm not pretty enough. Or young enough. Or little enough. They like teenagers, younger the better. Little pretty boys. Not sex. Pain a bit. Actually, mostly pain. "

"Roll up your sleeves, Billy." Lestrade is deeply concerned.

"What?"

"I've never seen your arms uncovered. Roll up your sleeves, please" 

Lestrade slips into his copper's voice

Billy rolls his sleeves up to the elbows. There are old track marks, but nothing recent. No other scars.

"I don't cut myself, Mister Lestrade. That's what you're looking for, isn't it?"

"What sort of pain are you talking about then, Billy? You don't look knocked about, and if it's not sex…"

Billy laughs, taking a long swallow of his lager. 

"It only gets bad occasionally. Most of the time I'm too hungry to think about anything else. You help me with that when you "forget" to take your fish and chips with you after you've dropped in for a chat. Don't think I'm too stupid to notice you do it on purpose. I've got an arrangement with a tattoo artist in Islington. Angel Studios. I model for them and they help me deal with the craving. Sometimes I draw flash and they pay me. Brings a little bit of money in."

"How exactly does one "model" for a tattoo artist?"

"There's this one guy, Marco. He's really good, really professional, but does it hard and rough if you ask him to. It hurts enough for me to get high. He sets up a couch in the studio window and I get tattooed in public, draws in the punters. I get it for free. I must have a couple of thousand quid's worth already. I draw my own flash, it's better than anyone else's. I was drawing a new design when you came round today. I've got a bit of a craving going on now, Mister Lestrade. Been twitchy all week. It's worse today because I don't really know what's going on. Might need you to punch me in the mouth a bit later on. I'm not letting you tattoo me. "

"Can I see what you were drawing? And you can forget about me punching you in the mouth. Maybe we can find somewhere for you to thrash your guitar. You said that could work?"

Billy hands Lestrade his sketch book. He opens it to the unfinished drawing, draws in a breath between his teeth.

"Gods, Billy. What is this? Looks anatomical… looks like something's been ripped out. Where would you have this?" The partly-coloured sketch shows an area of skin, about six inches by four, roughly peeled back to reveal the underlying structure- a deep, ugly-looking wound, layers of muscle, some broken bone, blood vessels. Ugly, but beautiful at the same time.

"Left shoulder blade. I'll have to wait till I get back to London to have it inked. Don't trust anyone but Marco. He gets the pain right. Might take two sessions. Colours take longer than black. "

"You've got tattoos already? Are they in here, as well?"

He starts paging back through the book. Stops.

"There are a lot of sketches of me in here…"

"I like drawing you. You're interesting. There are other people as well. I'm not obsessed with you, Mister Lestrade. In case you were worried".

He giggles.

"I think I might be a bit tipsy. I haven't had alcohol for years. The other tattoo flash was too big for those pages. It's not in there".

"Okay. Will I get a chance to see the actual tattoos? I'm curious to see what could cause enough pain to get rid of a heroin craving and be too big to fit on a foolscap page, yet still be completely hidden…"

"Maybe. I could show you some of it. But then you'd want to see it all…. Maybe. Not now. Sorry, Mister Lestrade."

"Okay, Billy. I can wait till you feel more comfortable. Next question. You said Mycroft has found your thesis. How can you **lose** a PhD thesis? **When** did you lose it?"

"It's complicated. My parents weren't much cop as parents. I got taken into care when I was ten, and got sent to a boarding school. There was a"social experiment" going on where they were taking deprived kids out of their deprived environment. A sort of nature versus nurture experiment. The school thought I was a bit clever, and put me in for my exams early. I did my A levels when I was fifteen, and got a scholarship grant. I went to Cambridge at sixteen. Most kids go up to university at eighteen or nineteen. I graduated with a double first when I was nineteen.  Didn't have a lot of friends, as you can imagine. Had no idea what to do afterwards, so I stayed on. Did a Masters in a year,  then got a research grant for medical research. I was really interested in PTSD, looking at causes, and I found significant indications that morphine addiction might be a contributing factor. Imagine being wounded on a battlefield, given morphine for the pain, getting hooked on it, then being sent home without it. There are a huge number of suicides among war veterans around the world. Suicides, domestic violence cases, shooting sprees. I started work on developing a new painkiller. A non-addictive substitute for morphine. One that wouldn't cause euphoria. The research went really well, there were really good results, field tests, everything. I was writing up as I went. Most people leave writing up till they've finished everything. It takes up your life, but I was the original "Billy No-mates"- didn't have a social life, so I spent days in the lab, evenings reading and writing. I had three papers published, and an almost complete thesis by the time I was twenty-two. Then someone claimed I'd faked my field test results. I hadn't, but they wanted me shut down, and they put together a plausible case against me. You know how that works, of course, from the Sherlock business…"

"Yeah. Who was it, do you think?"

"Dunno. Drugs company, cartel, poppy grower, maybe. Lot of money in morphine. And heroin. Anyway. My grant was withdrawn, my bank account frozen and I was out on my ear. There was a lab accident, a fire. Everything went. My computer and files got nicked. And I couldn't find any trace of the articles I had published. It was as if it had never happened. As if I'd never existed in research. Broke my heart. I had nowhere to go. Hitchhiked to London. Found a squat. Woke up one day with a needle in my arm. Heroin. Ironic, that. Got raped. Someone found out I was good at chemistry, I got offered money to cook crystal. You arrested me…"

"You told Sherlock your troubles…"

"Yeah. One day when we were both off our heads. Mr H must have got wind of it…"

"And he's uncovered your research and is giving you a second chance. Birthday present. You are a clever, and lucky bugger. Another question, then. You were raped. Why didn't you press charges?"

"They would have killed me, Mister Lestrade. You know how rare rape convictions are. Especially if the victim is a man. I was a junkie. Who'd take my word? I kind of asked for it anyway. I nicked a couple of hits. They took their payment …There were five of them. I didn't expect all five…"

His voice breaks, and he drains the rest of his lager, sits silently for a minute or so. Lestrade puts his arm around the young mans shoulders.

"They didn't get away with it. I was a double-first chemist. I waited a while, then cooked them a dodgy batch of crystal. Their clients didn't take that too well. They blew the lab up. I'm not ashamed. You can arrest me now if you want. I'll come quietly… "

His voice breaks again, and he puts his head in his hands, sobbing. Lestrade tightens his arm around him till he quiets.

"Silly sod. Bastards got what they deserved. No rape victim ever asks for it.  Anyway, I've already arrested you for that, and you got off. Last question, for now. What is it about thunderstorms?"

"Same thing. It was thundering and lightning when they were holding me down and…. I get flashbacks. Can't seem to help myself. When you asked if I rent myself out…. I can't let anyone near me, Mister Lestrade. I was a virgin when they… I've never…I've never even kissed anyone. "

"Ah, Billy. Have you never wanted anyone enough?"

"There's one bloke I fancied. Fancied him enough to know I'm definitely gay. But not enough to get past the horrors. Don't suppose I ever will. Get a bit pissed off about that sometimes. Can we talk about something else, please?"

"Okay. I know you've got a Stratocaster in that case. I've never heard you play…"

"Haven't had electricity for years. I keep my fingers flexible, play dead strings. I really miss the sound though. I wonder if Mr H would mind me buying an amp? He's given me a bank card."

"I've got a card too, for the same account. Must be for our expenses. I'll get a mini-statement from the first cash machine we see. Find out how much money we've got. It was his idea for us to bring our instruments, so I should think an amp would be a legitimate expense. Maybe we'll be able to jam. I haven't played for ages, callouses have softened up. Used to play a couple of times a month with a couple of blokes I played football with. Punk stuff, mostly. I've let it slide since I got promoted".

"You've got a bass, haven't you? What is it?"

"Gibson Thunderbird. Second love of my life. First was my bike. Smashed her up last year. Bit nervous about getting another. Your Strat, Fender, is it? Not a lookalike?"

"Fender. Got it when I was at university doing my BSc. Cost a whole term's grant. Thought about selling it once or twice, but I'm glad I didn't. Its the only thing I've got left. It's a bit battered, but it sounds beautiful. We should definitely jam. It'll be great to play with someone else. "

"Okay, let's look for amps once we get settled in wherever these keys are for. For now, though, we should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow. We arrive at quarter to six. You've got pyjama pants in the bag. I won't look at you changing. Keep your t-shirt on if you're cold. You can change into a clean one in the morning."

Lestrade quickly changes into his own pyjama trousers, carefully not noticing Billy's blush, folds his jeans and climbs into the lower bunk, turning his back so that Billy knows he wont look. He hears the sound of Billy's zip being undone, the rustle of fabric as he pulls off his jeans and pulls on the pyjama pants. Billy climbs into the top bunk and lies quietly.

Lestrade can't tell if Billy is asleep or not. He flips the light switch, turning off the overhead light. Listens to the rattle and swish of the train wheels on the line. Falls asleep himself, rocked by the swaying train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of previous drugs, rape and tattooing.


	3. "I'm straight, and you're inhibited. We'll be fine."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft wished they were here. Now they are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the "better homes and gardens" stuff.

August 11th: two years after The Fall

 

The first class steward knocks on the carriage door at four forty five.

"Coffee and bacon rolls as requested, sir. We will arrive at Leuchars in one hour. I hope you had a restful night."

"Thanks"

Lestrade grabs the breakfast tray and tips the steward.

"Billy. Breakfast"

Billy groans, opening one eye.

"Is it morning already? I feel as if I've only just gone to sleep…"

The bacon rolls are good. Warm bread, crunchy bacon. Billy smiles.

"First time I've had actual breakfast for weeks."

Lestrade scowls at himself in the mirror above the hand basin.

"Gods, I need a shave, but I'll probably cut myself if I try it on a moving train. Designer stubble it is. I need to piss, Billy. Get changed while I'm along the corridor. I'll take my stuff with me. Sorry there's no shower. Let's hope there's a good one at our new digs. I'll knock when I get back. Won't walk in on you. "

He pulls on his converse, but leaves them unlaced. He isn't foolhardy enough to risk a train lavatory in bare feet; walks to the gents at the end of the carriage, carrying clean underpants, bunched up in his hand. A queue is starting to form. Luckily, only one person in front of him.

 

Billy swings himself down from the top bunk, quickly shucking his pyjama trousers and underpants, replacing the latter with the new pair from the Gladstone bag. He pulls of his t-shirt and splashes his face and underarms with warm water. The washbasin in the compartment is tiny. He can barely get his large hands in it. He gives himself a quick spritz with the violet-scented cologne Mycroft has given him. Not too much, this early in the morning, just enough so that he feels fresh. He looks in the Gladstone bag and finds a soft, long-sleeved grandad style vest, which he puts on. He quickly pulls on his jeans, zipping them up just as Lestrade knocks on the door.

"You can come in, Mister Lestrade. I'm decent."

"Never doubted it, Billy."

Lestrade smiles, pulling off his t-shirt and pyjama trousers, noticing a flush creeping up Billy's neck. The young man is incredibly bashful.

"Billy. I'm wearing more than I would on a beach…"

"I know. I'm just not used to seeing people strip off. You've got a scar on your ribs. Looks like a knife wound…"

"Yeah. Got in the way of someone trying to escape a crime scene. It bled a lot, but no real damage. Hazard of the job".

Lestrade quickly pulls on his jeans and a clean t-shirt, followed by the red silk socks, which make him chuckle.

"Mycroft's little joke. These socks are made for the Pope. I remember having a discussion with him about clerical vestments. How it was weird that the Pope had these special red shoes and socks that no one else was supposed to wear. I bet him that he wouldn't be able to get hold of papal socks. He's won a bottle of ten year old malt. I'll get him one from a distillery, seeing as we're going to be in Scotland".

 

The two men are ready with plenty of time. Lestrade fastens on his holster, covering it with the grey jumper and his leather jacket. They both stow their gear in their bags and disembark from the train, looking around for the exit to the station and directions to the cab rank. A few other people get off the train, a young woman with a toddler, met by an older woman, mother, probably, Lestrade thinks. He is on autopilot, noticing people without really making an effort. Two men, one carrying a briefcase, the other loaded down with an enormous, heavy-looking rucksack. Briefcase man looks older. Businessman? Rucksack man looks nervous. His eyes flick over Lestrade and Billy, focus on briefcase man. Lestrade goes on alert as the men pass him, doesn't relax until they leave the station. In London, he would have followed rucksack man, he looks as if he is tailing briefcase man with intent to do something… He shakes himself, reminds himself he isn't strictly on duty, needs to stay with Billy. Doesn't have ordinary police jurisdiction here anyway. Lets it go.

"First things first, Billy. Let's see how much money we've got for expenses. "

Lestrade feeds his debit card into a cash machine, types in the PIN. Punches buttons for cash. £200 should do it between them. Pushes more buttons for a statement printout. Blinks.

"Billy. I think my eyes are playing up. Read this, would you?"

Billy takes the printout. Reads it twice. Whispers.

"Is this right, do you think? Why would we need this much?"

"This is stupid money. Twenty five grand? How long does he expect us to be here? Well, Billy, I think you can afford a practice amp."

Lestrade's phone pings. Picture message. Thin, angular-featured man. Red hair, green eyes. Freckles. Police cap.

***TO: GL: Do not get a cab. Inspector Jack Logan of the Fife Constabulary will pick you up. Be alert. MH***

"Okay, Billy. We're getting a lift from the locals. Let's go outside and see if we can spot them".

It is easy. A patrol car with two uniformed officers draws up just as Billy and Lestrade step out of the station entrance. Blond driver, young, hard to tell how tall he is sitting down. Sergeant's pips. A bit soft-looking, but Lestrade knows better than to be deceived by appearances. The inspector gets out of the car, slim, good shoulders, red hair, about six foot. He is followed more slowly by the sergeant, shorter, maybe five ten, who is clearly giving Lestrade and Billy the once-over. The inspector smiles warmly.

"Gregor Lestrade? Jackie Logan. My sergeant, Tom Knox"

"Greg, please. Sorry to be suspicious, but do you guys have ID I can see? I've just been reminded to trust no-one"

Lestrade grins his best shark grin.

"Aye."

Both officers extend their warrant cards for Lestrade to examine. He nods

"Inspector, sergeant. Thanks."

"Sir, we showed you ours…"

The young, blond sergeant smiles. Dimples, eyelashes fluttering. Lestrade returns with his best white-toothed, lip licking dazzler. _Smartarse. Worth keeping an eye on._

"Okay. Billy, got your ID handy? Show it to the nice sergeant."

Billy pulls his student ID out of his bag. Gives it to the sergeant, who sniffs.

"Student?"

"PhD student, Sergeant Knox. I expect he's cleverer than you, me and your inspector put together. Here's mine."

The sergeant glances at the warrant card. Blanches. Looks at his inspector for help.

"You didn't say he was a DCI, sir"

"Didn't I? Thank you, Greg. Give the DCI his warrant card back, Tom, and let's get going."

Billy and Lestrade pile their luggage into the car boot, slide themselves into the back seat of the patrol car, Lestrade grabbing and gripping Billy's knee, making sure the sergeant sees him. Billy flushes. All to the good, Lestrade thinks. He notices the inspector watching in the rear-view mirror. Winks.

It is a short drive to their new address. The house is at the end of a short row of three-storey, narrow houses. The sergeant gets out and opens the door on Lestrade's side of the car.

"Need help with your luggage, sir?"

"No thanks, Sergeant Knox. We can manage"

Logan hands Lestrade a card.

"My number. I'll be your liaison here. I'll drop by in a day or two to make sure you're settled okay, but for now, welcome to St Andrews"

They shake hands, and the patrol car moves off.

"What was all that about, Mister Lestrade?"

"All what, Billy?"

"You know. Blondie was flirting with you. And you were flirting back. And you squeezed my knee on purpose so they would see…"

"Knox irritated me. I think our inspector is newly promoted. He looks young enough. They were probably sergeants together. Together being the operative word, I think. Knox was trying to wind Logan up. I expect he's a bit jealous, and a mixed rank relationship can be tricky. I've got him worried though, he misjudged my rank, and didn't expect me to respond the way I did. I don't like being used to manipulate people. Squeezing your knee was setting up our cover. A clingy boyfriend will be better than an obvious bodyguard. I was showing Knox I'm taken. If you want to be up for grabs, it's up to you of course. I can probably throw a convincing in-character tantrum to give you an excuse if you need one…"

"Um. I think one gay lover is enough to get used to at the moment, thanks. I thought you were straight, Mister Lestrade…"

"Yep. I'm straight and you're inhibited. We'll be fine. Let's get indoors. I hope there's tea in the house".

 

** ***** **

The house is a 1920s style, three storey property, tall and narrow, grey stone with large bay windows on the two lower floors. Inside, it is painted flat white throughout, with wooden shutters at the windows. The hallway is wide, with a staircase leading up to the first floor. There is a small sitting room, furnished with a large, battered, brown chesterfield sofa and not much else. There is a wood-burning stove in the fireplace, and an old cast iron radiator against the internal wall, blocky and low enough to sit on. Lighting consists of a large dull brass Moroccan lantern, glazed in small shards of topaz, citrine, rose and garnet glass. It is all a bit shabby-chic.

In the middle of the room there are two small practice amplifiers, a Fender and a Roland Cube. Lestrade grins.

"You won't need to buy an amp, then. I've got a Roland at home. Nice to have a proper bass amp. I like this room, Billy. If the rest of the house is like this, I'll be happy. "

Billy nods.

"Yeah. I like the sofa. It's big enough for three or four people. And it'll be warm…"

They dump their luggage and coats in the hallway, go through a second door at the end of the hall and find themselves in a huge kitchen. A second reception room has clearly been knocked through to extend the kitchen. The knocked-through end of the room holds a huge, distressed farmhouse table, a bench seat and several mismatched chairs. A chandelier made of what look like Orangina bottles hangs low over the table. Billy laughs delightedly.

"I love this chandelier. Brilliant bit of glass recycling."

The other end of the kitchen is the business end. Polished concrete work tops. Butler sink. An Aga, a large fridge-freezer and a dishwasher. Another door leads to a small utility room: washing machine, tumble dryer, airing space, vacuum cleaner. Two more doors lead to a downstairs lavatory and a small paved garden with a fountain, pots of herbs, patio furniture, barbecue and sun umbrella.

Lestrade opens cupboards, rattling around.

"Plenty of food. Can you cook, Billy?"

"I can heat up lentils…"

"Okay. Down to me then. Good job I like cooking, eh? Good, there's coffee beans. And chamomile tea, for some reason…"

"I really like chamomile tea. Someone must have noticed…"

Lestrade snorts.

"Well, we both know someone who notices everything, don't we? I'll have to see if I remember how to use an Aga. My grandmère had something similar…"

"Are you French, Mister Lestrade? "

"My grandparents were, and my father. They lived in the Camargue. I spent a lot of school holidays there. I approve of this kitchen. Let's have a look upstairs."

There are two doors off the landing, and a spiral wrought iron staircase, leading up to the third storey. Lestrade opens the door on the right. A bright room looking out onto the street. One wall taken up with bookshelves, full of textbooks and journals, files and folders. A large desk stands against the wall opposite the door. Three journals, open to papers authored by B Wiggins, MSc lie on the desk. Filing cabinets fill in part of the space beneath the desk. A comfortable looking desk chair and a small wrought-iron daybed, piled with cushions and throws complete the study furniture.

"I think this is for you, Billy. 'B' Wiggins? I thought it would be W. Short for William…?"

Billy shakes his head

"No. Its just Bill on my birth certificate. I suppose my mum didn't know it's supposed to be short for something else. This is fantastic though. Him finding my papers. I might cry…"

They leave the study, Lestrade opening the other door from the hallway. A small lobby. Four glazed doors. He opens one of the doors.

"Mycroft, I love you…"

A wet room. Tiled walls and floor, the floor slightly textured to make it non-slip. Huge industrial shower head. Bench to sit on while showering. Big enough for a five-a-side football team.

"There's no bath…"

"Shower's better. This will be heaven".

They try the other doors. A lavatory. A small dressing room, with clothes for both men in drawers and on hangers, including Billy's Cambridge academic dress. Someone has spent serious money on this set-up. Lestrade is vaguely bothered. _Can Billy's research be that important?_

"Why do you need the cap and gown? Won't you get a new lot when you graduate?"

"I might have to attend functions before I graduate. Academic dress is usually a requirement…"

Opening the final door makes Lestrade laugh out loud.

"There's your bath, Billy."

The door leads out onto a steel framed balcony, screened from the garden by wisteria, and furnished with a hot tub.

"I've never been in one of these, Mister Lestrade. How does it work?"

"Dunno. I think you get pummelled by jets of water. I suppose if it gets hot out we could just use it as a grown-up paddling pool".

He laughs again.

"This is a really "designer" house. Someone's had a lot of fun furnishing it. Don't know how I'll cope with my little flat in Peckham after this"

"Or my squat".

"I don't think you'll have to worry about squatting again, Billy. Haven't seen any bedrooms yet. Must be up these stairs…"

Billy leads the way up the spiral staircase, freezes at the top.

"You all right there, Billy? Let me by"

Lestrade pushes past Billy

"What's wrong? Ah…"

There is one bedroom, taking up the whole of the top floor. A floor to ceiling window, shutters partly open, throws dappled light on to a bigger-than-king-size bed, dressed with cream and white sheets, blankets, cushions, topped with a huge natural sheepskin rug. A mosquito net hangs over the bed. One wall holds a full length mirror, ornately framed in pewter. A giant Moroccan lantern hangs in a corner of the room, pewter rather than brass this time. Glass in shades of cobalt, mauve, grey and aqua. The colours match Billy's rings, and his eyes.

Lestrade takes a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. It looks like a spread from a house beautiful magazine. Romantic and ridiculous.

"Are you going to be okay with this, Billy?"

Billy blushes scarlet.

"It's our cover story, isn't it? Gay couple. I'm not used to sleeping with anyone, Mister Lestrade. It's a bit scary".

"I promise not to ravish you, Billy"

Lestrade's voice is thick in his throat. He feels a flicker of something worrying.

"Not sure I want you to make that promise, Mister Lestrade. Um. Sorry. This is all a bit much…"

Lestrade groans, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I need coffee. Want some?"

"Chamomile tea, if that's all right? You just make it like ordinary tea. No milk. I'll be down in a minute. Need to get my head around this".

Billy waits until Lestrade has clattered down the stairs. He hears the sound of coffee beans grinding. Breathes deeply, then goes to look out of the back window.

Directly below is the balcony roof, overgrown with a late-flowering variety of wisteria. The scent is heady, the flowers pale bluish-mauve. Beautiful. He turns back to the room. A small ornate chest of drawers stands by the far side of the bed. He opens the bottom drawer. Soft cotton pyjama trousers. Two pairs grey-striped. Lestrade's size. Two pairs red-striped. They are for him.

The top drawer holds generic painkillers, aspirin and paracetamol; antacids; Vaseline; tissues; condoms; lubricant, two tubes, blueberry and cherry flavoured. He flips the top of one tube, sniffs the contents, gags. It smells like cheap bubblegum. The other is even worse. He pushes the drawer closed. Opens the window to get rid of the smell of the lube. Goes downstairs.

 

Lestrade has taken his coffee out into the garden, is sitting on a spindly wirework chair watching water splashing in what could loosely be called a fountain. He had been doubtful that the chair would take his weight, but once he has gingerly lowered himself on to it, it feels surprisingly sturdy. Billy stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, sipping his chamomile tea. Nervous.

"It feels a bit like being in a play, Mister Lestrade. Only someone forgot to give me my script. I'm improvising, and don't know if I'm getting it right. "

"You're doing fine. I'm a bit in the dark about the plot line myself…"

Billy's phone pings. Email.

"Who's emailing me? Oh. It's the university. I've got an appointment to meet my supervisor tomorrow morning. It's really happening…"

"Supervisor?"

"Sort of tutor. Someone to keep an eye on me while I finish writing up. Make sure I don't get sidetracked, suggest useful sources, that sort of thing. It's been five years since I was at Cambridge. It'll be useful to get someone else's perspective…"

"Okay then. You need to get unpacked, decide what you're going to wear tomorrow. I'll walk down to the campus with you in the morning. We can get lunch somewhere after you've had your meeting, maybe look round the town a bit. What do you think?"

"Sounds good, Mister Lestrade. Thanks"


	4. "It's a bit arty"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy shows Lestrade his tattoo. Not really…

August 11th:two years after The Fall

 

"Here you go. Get that down you"

Lestrade hands Billy a large, shallow bowl, piled with pasta, topped with shellfish.

"What is it?"

"Spaghetti alle vongole. Clams, garlic and a splash of this plonk. Smells like the sea, tastes like heaven."

Lestrade had found a bag of Manila clams, in their shells, in the freezer. Had added chopped shallots, garlic and parsley, a squeeze of lemon and a glass of white wine.

Billy picks up a clamshell, pokes at the contents doubtfully, then, following Lestrade's lead, sucks the clam from the shell, smiling at the briny, garlicky flavour.

"This is really good. Do you cook a lot, Mister Lestrade?"

"Yeah. My grandpère was a chef. I learned from him. I like cooking. Like making up recipes. Don't use books much…"

They eat companionably, Billy enthusiastically taking a second helping of the clams, both enjoying the chilled Sauvignon Blanc that Lestrade had found in the fridge.

 

The two men had spent the day pottering around in the house. Lestrade had found manuals for the Aga and the hot tub, and had got both working. Billy had used a couple of hours to go through the books and papers in the study. They had both , separately, made use of the wet room; Lestrade in particular revelling in the force of the shower. Billy had looked through the clothes in the dressing room, deciding what to wear for the following day's interview. Whoever had stocked the wardrobe had good taste, he thought. Knew what would suit him and Lestrade.

 

"So, feeling a bit more like reality?"

Lestrade smiles.

"Yeah. Specially now I've had something to eat. I think that was the best meal I have ever had in my life. Feeling the wine, though. Not really used to alcohol…"

Billy grins.

"I'd like to put some music on. Can't get any volume from my phone, and the laptop's not that brilliant. What's the sound like on your iPad? Can we look for a tech shop tomorrow? I think I'd like to get an iPod. Speakers for in here and for the study, maybe?"

"Yeah. Good idea. Definitely need music. I might give the bass a bit of a workout in a minute".

They clear up the dinner things, stacking pots and plates in the dishwasher, wiping off work tops. Billy grabs the wine bottle and their glasses and goes through to the living room, Lestrade following. Lestrade plugs in both amps, sliding his amp over towards one end of the sofa and plugging in his bass, settling himself in the corner of the sofa. Billy carries his Fender amp to the opposite end, opens his guitar case and pulls out a lead, plugging it into the amp, picks up his guitar, plugs in and starts to tune.

"We should pick something we both know, otherwise well just be making noise. What sort of music do you like, Mister Lestrade?"

"I can put a bottom on most things. You want to thrash, though. Pick something you know's got a good bass riff. Chances are I'll have heard it…. I'll follow if I can. If not, I'll leave you to get on with it."

"Okay. D'you know any Metallica?"

"Try me"

Lestrade grins a shark grin, tuning. Billy fires up his Strat. After two bars, Lestrade joins in. Billy sings, his voice deep and growly. Lestrade surprises him by grabbing the bridge vocal

_"Do you bury me when I'm gone?/ Do you teach me while I'm here?/ Just as soon as I belong/ it's time I disappear…"_

His voice is a little higher, husky. Their instruments blend well on the Metallica song. Billy grins, delighted.

"Your turn to start"

Lestrade bangs straight into Ace of Spades. No bassist like Lemmy. Billy joins in quickly, following the rhythm, taking on the short guitar solos. They both sing fiercely at each other. Both collapse in laughter at the end. Lestrade steals the next choice, making Billy smile. Nirvana. Great thrashing music. Billy has the last choice, an old Zombies tune that Lestrade knows, reworked by Santana. Reworked again by Billy, who sings it so well it brings a lump to Lestrade's throat.

Lestrade breaks first.

"My fingers have had it for tonight. I'm bleeding…"

"I'm sorry, Mister Lestrade. I didn't think. You said earlier you were out of practice. You're good, though. It'd be great to work up some proper arrangements for the two of us. I'd like to have a go at Fade to Black. Metallica have two guitars…"

"And Rob Trujillo. Don't know how I'd stack up against him".

Lestrade laughs.

"Let's see if we can find it on YouTube. See whether it's possible."

He hands his iPad to Billy, refills their wine glasses and settles back into the corner of the sofa, one foot on the floor, one knee against the sofa back. Billy pulls a Moroccan pouffe around and sits on it, leaning back against the sofa seat, close enough to Lestrade so that they can both see the screen.

"It's a brilliant tune, but the sound on this thing is rubbish"

"Yeah. You can get more volume if you use headphones, but it's only got one socket"

Lestrade scrabbles in his pocket, pulls out a set of earbuds, hands them to Billy.

"Here. We can try sharing them, I suppose. Pretend we're teenage girls. Sit up here, there's not enough cable to stretch over there."

He pats the sofa next to him. Billy scrambles up, bringing the iPad with him. He pushes one earbud into his own left ear, hands the other to Lestrade. Turns the volume on the iPad up high. They watch the video, decide it would take a lot of work to arrange the song for a single lead guitar. Decide they're kidding themselves even considering it.

Lestrade smiles.

"There's video of the whole Nimes arena gig. I was there, it was brilliant. Probably get a better view here than I did there…"

Billy sighs

"They are great live. I saw them at Earls Court a while back. I managed to get a stewarding job, so I saw some of the show for free. Can we watch this?"

They sit, sharing headphones, drinking wine, singing along occasionally. It gets dark, but they don't really notice. At some point Lestrade realises Billy is sitting between his thighs, leaning back against his knee, and he is stroking the younger man's hair. He carefully moves away, pulling the earbud out of his ear, patting Billy's shoulder.

"It's getting pretty late. You've got an appointment in the morning. Best get some sleep."

Billy shakes his shoulders, stretches his arms above his head, revealing an inch of pale belly that Lestrade carefully ignores.

"Okay. Can I go up first? I'll feel better if the bed's empty when I get into it."

"Yeah. I'll lock up and rinse these glasses. Ten minutes? Set your phone alarm so you don't oversleep. "

When Lestrade climbs the spiral stairs to the bedroom, Billy is asleep, on top of the bedclothes, still wearing his long-sleeved t-shirt. At least he's changed into pyjama pants, Lestrade thinks. But, long sleeves in August? He quickly strips off his clothes, pulling on his own pyjama trousers. He switches off the main light and lies on the bed, leaving as much space as possible between himself and Billy. Tries to sleep. It is impossible. His mind is turning circles, recalling fragments of conversations

_*I stayed clean because you told me I had to, or you'd stop coming round*_

_*I like drawing you. You're interesting*_

_*I've never even been kissed*_

_*I thought you were straight, Mister Lestrade*_

He sighs, remembering his own comment when they'd seen the bedroom,

_*I promise not to ravish you*_

and Billy's reply

* _I'm not sure I want you to make that promise*_

He turns on his side, looks across the expanse of bed at the young man, noticing a trace of ink at his right ankle, and another where the neck of his t-shirt has slipped down to his shoulder. He shivers, realising he badly wants to see those tattoos.

He dozes. Wakes to the sound of thunder. Rain hammers on the roof and the window, lightning splits the night, thunder follows again after a few seconds. Is the storm moving towards them, or moving away? Billy is awake. Staring wildly. Shaking with fear, whimpering at every flash of lightning.

Lestrade slides over, speaks calmly.

"It's okay, Billy. It's okay. It's just a summer storm. You're safe".

He shuffles closer, gathers the young man into his arms and holds him as he sobs against his chest, gradually calming as the storm passes and the sky clears, revealing a full, bright moon.

"Are you cold?"

Billy sniffs, using the hem of his t-shirt as a hanky.

"Yes, freezing"

Lestrade moves closer, pulling the sheepskin with him and wrapping it tighter around them both, fleece side in. The temperature in the room has fallen sharply during the storm.

"Here, lean on me. I'm warm".

"You're like a radiator."

Lestrade wraps his arm around Billy's shoulder, runs his thumb across his wet cheek.

"Want to talk?"

"No. I'm all right now. "

"Well, if you're going to use your t-shirt as a hanky, you should take it off. I don't want to get your snot all over me if you fidget."

Billy giggles hysterically.

"All right. I'm sorry for snivelling. I just got scared. "

"Well, you're entitled to that I suppose. Come on. T-shirt off. Blow your nose. You realise that shirt is going in the bin don't you? Remind me to buy Kleenex tomorrow. "

"There's some in the drawer. I forgot."

Billy sits up,and pulls off his t-shirt. Shivers. Bright moonlight shines through the bedroom shutters, light and dark stripes across his pale skin. Lestrade sucks in a breath between his teeth.

"That's a lot of ink you've got there, Billy. How many tattoos have you got, then?"

"Only one."

"I saw ink on your ankle, Billy…"

"I've got a photo that Marco took in my guitar case. I'll let you see it. Then you're not to nag me about it…"

"All right"

Billy gets up to go and fetch the photograph. Lestrade catches a glimpse of what looks like feathers as the young man turns and goes downstairs. He opens the bedside drawer to find the Kleenex, blinks as he sees what else is in the drawer. Swallows as he realises Billy must have already seen it, and said nothing.

Billy comes back wearing a clean t-shirt, holding an envelope, which he hands to Lestrade.

"Here. Marco took this when it was finished. For his portfolio. It's a bit arty. "

Lestrade slides the picture from the envelope carefully. Growls deep in his chest.

"Ah, Billy. That's beautiful."

Billy is naked, facing away from the photographer, framed in a doorway. A black tattoo of an angel's wing covers his right shoulder and upper arm, extending down the right side of his back, over his right buttock, thigh and calf, and ending curled around his ankle.

Lestrade catches his breath. He wants to see the real thing. Knows that's not likely any time soon.

"Come back to bed now. You'll get chilled."

Billy climbs back into bed, slides down under the sheepskin rug, his back to Lestrade. Lestrade puts his arm around him, hand open flat against Billy's breastbone. Heat flows out of his fingers. Billy sighs, turns to face Lestrade and wraps his own arm around the inspector's waist, hugging tight.

Lestrade wriggles his toes in the fleece, kisses Billy's shoulder softly.

"I think I'm going to get a big sheepskin for every bed I ever own from now on. This is bliss. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I was watching Metallica at Glastonbury, and they played [this](http://youtu.be/8hsV7r84t5I). Lestrade and Billy were definitely kidding themselves


	5. Lestrade's filthy food fetish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy has an epiphany. Lestrade feeds him filthy food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter. Sorry. Also, mentions of maths. Don't be scared, it won't happen again.

August 12th: two years after The Fall

 

"Morning"

Lestrade smiles lazily at Billy, who is squinting in the sunlight. The Chief Inspector had woken first, luxuriating in the feel of soft fleece and a warm body against his torso. It had been a long time …

"Morning"

Billy stretches, arms above his head, rib cage lifting, belly flattening. Lestrade moans quietly, dropping a kiss on Billy's belly button, revealed as his t-shirt rides up.

"Sorry, mate. Can't help myself".

Billy flushes and burrows back down into the fleece, wrapping himself around Lestrade.

"Do we have to get up yet?"

"Best if we do. Can't answer for my actions if we don't. Could you make coffee?"

Lestrade's voice is husky. He kisses Billy's ear and slides out from the bed, staking a claim in the bathroom. Showers, shaves, scuffs up his hair, spritzes himself with cologne. Makes a mental note to never use anything but extract of limes again. Wraps a towel around himself and goes looking for coffee.

Billy has had a bit of a struggle with the espresso machine, judging by the mess on the work top. But he has finally figured it out and made passable coffee. Lestrade leans over his shoulder.

"Next time I'll show you how to make good foam for lattes."

"Okay. You smell fantastic. Citrusy. Better than my coffee."

He laughs

"You'll have to put up with this for now. I'll go and get showered while you drink yours. "

"Tell me if I'm getting in your space too much, Billy. I'm not sure what…"

"I had a long think last night. After the storm, when you were asleep. You're my bodyguard, aren't you? I have to trust you to look after me. And you are. You're making sure I eat, helping me keep the cravings under control, helping me cope with the flashbacks. You're really kind to me, Mister Lestrade. You always have been. I trust you not to maul me, not to hurt me. I'm sure you won't try to force me to do anything I don't want to do. I like you. I like cuddling up to you, I feel safe. I like it that you're tactile. You're just a lovely man. I decided to just try to relax and enjoy being with you. I'm not expecting…If you think I'm being too friendly, tell me, and I'll back off. I've had a lot of practice backing off…"

Lestrade smiles.

"I like a cuddle, too. Now, go and get dressed. Don't want to be late for your interview."

 

*********

 

Billy turns the shower on, dialling up the water pressure. He gasps as jets of hot water like needles redden his skin. It is almost painful, exhilarating. He douses himself in shower gel, the heady aroma of violets mixing with the steam from the pressure jets, a cloud of heavenly perfume. He towels off, shaves, tousles his hair. It will need trimming soon.

He marvels at the wardrobe that has been provided for them, it feels like having his own shop. Or maybe the costume department in a film studio. He dresses in loose tan jeans, an aqua grandad shirt, light blue linen blazer, tan cowboy boots. Slides his rings onto his fingers, four on the right hand, two on the left.

Upstairs in the bedroom, he looks in the big mirror, not recognising the young man he sees there.

Down to the study; laptop, papers he has authored, sketchbook, notepad, pens, pencils all go into his despatch bag, along with his ID, welcome letter and map of the university campus. He isn't really sure what he needs to take, so takes everything. He had copied his thesis onto the hard drive of the laptop the previous day, but he puts the CD into his bag anyway, in case he needs it.

Back down to the kitchen. Lestrade has made toast. Billy grabs a slice and eats it while waiting for his bodyguard to appear.

Lestrade dresses carefully. Loose indigo jeans, white, collarless shirt, loose enough to conceal his gun, top two buttons undone. White converse, navy pinstripe jacket. He pockets keys, phone, debit card, warrant card, sunglasses. Joins Billy in the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, Billy. You look fantastic. I wouldn't have put those blues together, but they really suit you."

"I like the boots. I've never had cowboy boots. They're really comfortable."

"Let's hope they don't make your feet ache. Not sure you need the extra height from the heels either. I'm not used to being the shortest man in the room. Come on then. Let's get you to your meeting".

*********

 

The meeting goes well. Billy's supervisor has clearly read his articles and his drafts of thesis chapters. Billy is surprised at how familiar the man is with his work. _Mycroft must have spent quite a long time setting up this whole jaunt_ , he thinks.

The supervisor explains the three-term, rather than two-semester, system that his department operates, pointing out the possibility of Billy submitting his thesis by Christmas, if he is ready to, rather than having to wait until the following Easter. He hands Billy a printout of notes, bullet points for him to consider, to get him back on track, then explains that all post-graduates on PhD programmes are expected to teach.

Billy will be teaching science and mathematics on the PSE, Public Services Education, programme. The students this term will be mainly drawn from Police services. Billy is pleased to hear this. He has a resident expert who can help him put the generic syllabus into context.

The supervisor dismisses Billy with a promise to email relevant documentation, and a reminder of term dates. Billy decides to come back to campus before his start date to check out classroom and office facilities, and hopefully meet his fellow post-grads. He is slipping back into academia more easily than he expected. He hopes Lestrade won't get too bored.

 

*********

Billy laughs.

"You're giving me more filthy food…"

"Filthy food? What do you mean, Billy?"

"Spaghetti vongole…. You had me slurping the clams out of the shells using my fingers and teeth. It was filthy, Mister Lestrade. Now you're doing it again with these mussels, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I admit it. Watching you eating shellfish is a real delight. It's a little guilty pleasure. Sorry you caught me out so quickly. Now what am I going to do? "

"Watch me eat mussels with my fingers, I suppose. Wouldn't want to spoil your fun…"

They both laugh. Lestrade has found a French restaurant. Ordered moules mariniere. Frîtes, this time, not pasta. Billy had expected a similar flavour to the vongole, is pleasantly surprised at the aniseedy flavour that tarragon gives to the dish, and the kick in the sauce from the vermouth used in the cooking liquor.

"This is really good. But I bet it'd be better if you cooked it…"

"Yep. It would. But I couldn't think of anything better to have for lunch, so…"

"So, what will we be eating tonight? More shellfish? "

"I'm thinking about it. Might let you have a knife and fork."

Lestrade grins, showing his shark teeth.

"So. What did he say? When do you start?"

"Two weeks. But I need to do some swotting. All postgrads have to teach. I'm going to be teaching science and maths on a PSE course. Students will be mostly police, apparently. I need to tailor the course for them. Science will be easy, but I'll have to look up what sort of maths they need".

"Maybe I could help you with that. Lot of probability theory, I expect?"

Billy smiles, delighted.

"Would you? That would be great. Yeah, the professor said mainly probability. Some algebra, precalculus. There's a syllabus, but it's the application to police work I'll need help with. "

"Okay. If you describe the maths, I can tell you how it applies to what we do. It'll be interesting, give me something to do. Now, finish eating your filthy mussels." 


	6. "All that pink foam…"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are settling into a routine. But there is trouble from a blond…

15th August, two years after The Fall

 

Lestrade calls Inspector Logan and invites him and his sergeant to join them for an informal dinner. The excuse is that barbecues are always more fun with more people, but the reality is that he feels things between Billy and himself are moving faster than is comfortable, and he thinks having extra people around will dial down the intensity a bit.

They haven't done more than share a bed and a few cuddles, but Lestrade has found it hard to keep his eyes, and hands, off Billy. He has caught himself stroking his hair, and grazing his ear, shoulder, whatever, with his lips, casually. He is hyperaware of his companion. It is hard to remember that he is supposed to be a bodyguard, and only pretending to be a boyfriend.

 

"Steaks are ready. Come and get them. Bill, can you do the honours with the booze?"

Lestrade swaggers across the garden, carrying a plate with his own steak, helps himself to a pile of the salad he had prepared earlier.

Billy lifts a bottle of sparkling Shiraz out of the fountain, where it has been cooling, pops the cork and pours four glasses, handing two to their guests. The dark red wine fizzes gently, pink-tinged bubbles topping it.

"Sparkling red? That's new to me. "

Logan looks at the wine doubtfully.

"Just you try it, Jackie. You'll be converted."

Lestrade grins.

"Goes well with steak".

"Pretty, as well. All that pink foam."

Knox raises an eyebrow, aims his remark at Lestrade.

Billy goes into the kitchen and plugs his laptop into the sound dock, selecting a playlist, turning up the volume so it can be heard in the garden. He is feeling a little left out among the three policemen. Has noticed that Lestrade is calling him 'Bill'. He'll have to be careful to call him 'Greg' to keep in character.

He scrubs his hands through his hair, shrugs. Rejoins the others in the garden. At least the food is good. Medallion steak, rocket salad with good French dressing, sourdough bread and pale butter, impregnated with sea salt crystals. Lestrade is a terrific cook.

"So, Greg. Are you celebrating something?"

Knox is determined to engage Lestrade in conversation.

"Bill's got a job teaching at the university. That's worth a glass of fizz, in my book".

"Is that right, Bill? Thought you were a student. What will you be teaching?"

Logan takes the opportunity to bring Billy into the conversation.

"I am a student, but doctoral students have to teach as well as do research. I'll be teaching science and maths. On the PSE course…"

Knox scowls. Logan laughs.

"Isn't that the course you're taking, Tom? You'll be Tom's teacher, Bill. Don't be too tough on him…"

"I'll treat him the same as the rest of the students, Mr Logan."

"Call me Jackie, Bill. 'Mr Logan' is okay when I'm on duty, but not when we're socialising".

"Sorry. Jackie."

Billy quite likes Logan. Doesn't like Knox at all. The blond sergeant is clearly making a play for Lestrade. And Lestrade doesn't seem to mind…

"I'm not sure I'll want the other students knowing I know you, Bill. Or should it be Mr Wiggins?"

"Let's see how it goes when the course starts, Tom. The other students don't have to know we've met. I won't let the fact that I know you influence my teaching. Or my marking, either way. You'll get the marks you earn. Do the pre-reading. I'll be emailing the schedule and reading list out in a day or so."

"So Tom, what are you taking the PSE course for? Looking for promotion?"

Lestrade feels he should show an interest. In response, Knox grabs a wire chair, pulls it too close to where Lestrade is sitting.

"I want to move across to CID, Greg. Want to get out of the uniform".

"I quite like a uniform…"

Lestrade grins a shark grin. Billy notices a flush creep up Logan's neck. Ah. They _both_ fancy his DCI. He feels uncomfortable. How is this going to work out?

Logan notices him noticing. Leans in to speak quietly.

"Greg's nice, isn't he? Nice to look at. Sense of humour as well. You don't need to worry about me, Bill. I'll not try anything. Can't say the same for Tom, though. He's always had a roving eye."

The evening doesn't get any better for Billy.

Knox flirts brazenly with Lestrade. Billy feels a twinge of jealousy. Logan tries to include Billy in the conversation, but the three policeman stray into shop talk so frequently that he feels more and more left out, eventually retreating into claiming a headache, leaving the three of them to carry on without him.

He climbs the stairs to the bedroom, leaving the lights off. Lestrade finds him asleep, hours later, still fully dressed except for his boots.

*********

The two men gradually settle into a routine.

Lestrade misses police work, emails his team at the Yard, asking for cold case files to be scanned and sent for him to work on while Billy is busy in his study, which is most of the time. He checks in with Logan every so often. Helps him unofficially once or twice.

He rents a car occasionally and forces Billy out into the fresh air. They explore the nearby parts of Scotland; castles, distilleries, lochs, beaches. There is angling and golf nearby, but they don't appeal. Lestrade prefers his sport a little more lively. Billy doesn't care for sport at all. 

Once a week, Billy has a late evening meeting with his supervisor, and Lestrade takes advantage of the time to go to the pub and watch football, if there is a match on. Sometimes Knox joins him, occasionally Logan as well, and they have a couple of beers together. He is careful never to drink too much. Always collects Billy and walks him home after his meetings.

The town fills up with students, and there are open-mic comedy and music nights. Sometimes Lestrade insists that Billy take a break from working to go out, persuades him to take the stage with his guitar a couple of times, but most nights they stay in.

Billy turns out to be a bit of a workaholic. He misses London, and wants to get his thesis submitted as soon as possible, so that he can go back. He knows Lestrade misses London, too, and feels guilty about keeping him in Scotland.

Lestrade reads a lot of pulp fiction and a little literature. Gets really good at cryptic crosswords. Develops new bass callouses on his fingers. Cooks like a demon.

On teaching days, Billy takes sandwiches to eat in his office, stays on campus the whole day. He uses the long lunch break between classes to mark assignments, see students, prepare teaching notes. Lestrade goes to lunch in town by himself, trying out places to take Billy on non-teaching days.

Nights are spent cuddled up under the sheepskin.

Billy starts calling Lestrade 'Greg', although he unconsciously reverts to 'Mister Lestrade' when he is stressed or unhappy.

Lestrade hasn't had to actually guard Billy's body from anything. He begins to think Mycroft might have been mistaken in thinking the young man needed keeping an eye on. Stays close anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sparkling red is lovely. Especially when chilled. Try it.


	7. Voulez vous?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Lestrade clear up a misunderstanding.

September 25th: two years after The Fall

 

Lestrade shakes his wrists, carpals popping. Sits on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward. Strums his bass, settling into a slow, bouncing riff, singing the way he always does when he is alone and troubled, hoarse, voice breaking on the high notes.

_"What the hell is wrong with you tonight?_

_I can't seem to say or do the right thing_

_Wanted to be sure you're feeling right_

_Wanted to be sure we want the same thing "_

A noise behind him makes him stop. He turns slowly, ears pink, flush creeping up his neck. Caught in the act. Billy is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He had heard Lestrade tuning, heard him start to sing. Had crept in quietly to listen.

"Sorry, Mister Lestrade. I didn't mean to interrupt…that's nice…sorry. "

The relationship between the two men has been a little "off" since the day after the ill-fated barbecue. Billy had fallen asleep fully clothed that night after claiming he had a headache and Lestrade had not wanted to disturb him. They had slept on opposite sides of the bed, and Billy had got up early the next morning. The next day things seemed pretty much back to normal, albeit a little less 'touchy-feely' than before. Lestrade tells himself this is what he wanted. Doesn't quite manage to convince himself.

Billy doesn't pull away from Lestrade's cuddles, but stops initiating any of his own; sometimes goes to bed early, and Lestrade suspects, feigns sleep; doesn't talk much unless Lestrade starts the conversation, spends too much time alone in his study, writing. Over the last couple of weeks, the relationship has become increasingly formal, and Lestrade is worried.

"What's going on, Billy?"

"Nothing, Mister Lestrade. I'm just a bit tired. Developing this course is more work than I thought it would be. Fitting it in around my writing is difficult. I'm going to be Billy No-mates again I expect."

"No. Something's wrong. I'm not stupid, Billy. Have I upset you? Made you uncomfortable? You hardly talk to me lately…"

"I'm sorry, Mister Lestrade. I'm just a bit preoccupied. I'm worried about teaching Sergeant Knox. He doesn't like me much, and I don't want to let that affect the way I treat him as a student. I don't want to upset you, but I don't think I can ever be friends with him…"

"Sorry? Upset me? Why would you not being friends with Tom Knox upset me?"

"You and him…"

"Sorry, what? Me and him what?"

"I haven't got any claim on you, Mister Lestrade, I know you have to stay with me. It's your job. But your personal life is your own. The pair of you froze me out at the barbecue. And Inspector Logan. But at least he could join in with the shop talk. He said Knox has got a roving eye. It's definitely roving on you. You go to the pub with him to watch football, you went out to lunch with him yesterday. And last week. But you still want to cuddle up with me at night. I'm confused, Mister Lestrade. "

"There is nothing going on between me and Sergeant Knox. I go to the pub for the football. You're at meetings anyway, and the iPad's not big enough for watching a match on comfortably. I didn't 'go out to lunch' with him. I went out to lunch because you were teaching and I got hungry. He happened to pick the same place… Oh. Yeah. A bit too regularly. He's up to something. Keeping an eye on my whereabouts. Flirting… I flirt with everyone. You know that, Billy. It doesn't mean anything…"

"So all that dirty shellfish, all that kissing my ear, all that…. I thought…. I'm so stupid."

Billy pushes past Lestrade, goes to the kitchen, switches the kettle on. Makes chamomile tea with shaky hands, slopping it a bit.

Lestrade scrubs his hands through his hair. Thinks. _How do I fix this?_ Follows Billy.

"Billy. Come out with me tonight. You need a break from working. Come out with me, please?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere we won't bump into your students. Dundee. It's only half an hour's drive. I'll hire a car. We can find a club, music, karaoke, let our hair down a bit."

"I don't know…"

Lestrade's face crumples a little bit. He's disappointed. Billy gives in.

"Okay. But I'm not singing by myself."

"I'll sing with you. If we sing. I'll see you in an hour or so".

Lestrade kisses the back of Billy's neck and leaves to go and hire a car.

 

** ***** **

 

When Lestrade gets back, Billy is nowhere to be seen. Lestrade swears. He should have taken him with him, not left him alone. He'd got caught up in the moment, forgotten his job. He'd taken longer than he meant to,as well, had called Logan to ask about places to go, pretty sure that the inspector would know somewhere not too intimidating.

_Where is he? He knows he's not supposed to be out on his own._ He phones Billy's number. It rings out. Phones again. Voicemail. Leaves a message.

***Billy. It's Greg. Are you all right? Where are you?***

Lestrade is worried. He'd been disturbed by their earlier talk. Knows he hadn't offered Billy any real reassurance. Isn't really sure of his feelings, anyway. His phone rings.

"Sorry. I had the phone on silent. I needed a walk and a think. I'm on the beach…"

"Stay there. I'll come down."

He drives the half mile to the beachfront in a few minutes. Parks carelessly.

Billy is standing in the surf, water up to his ankles.

"What the hell are you doing, Billy? Mycroft will have my guts…"

"I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't think…"

* _Greg_ *

Lestrade is well aware of the way Billy switches from 'Greg' to 'Mister Lestrade' when his anxiety level increases. He must be feeling calmer.

"Your feet must be frozen "

"Yeah. But it feels brilliant. I never got to paddle much when I was a kid. Only went to the seaside a couple of times on school trips. I love the seaside, even when there's no sand. Went to Margate a few years ago and it snowed. I was the only person on the beach. It was brilliant".

Lestrade picks up a handful of pebbles and throws them one by one into the water.

"Yeah. Beaches are fun. You're fun to be with, Billy. You get excited about everything. Make me feel young again".

"You're not old…"

"I'm twice your age. You need someone younger…"

"I feel safe with you, Greg. I'm sorry for acting jealous. It's not as if we're in a relationship or anything."

Lestrade swallows. Doesn't know what to say to that.

Billy sits on a ridge of pebbles, rubbing his feet to warm them a bit. He picks up a handful of stones, throwing most of them down the beach, putting one or two in his pocket to join a handful more he has already pocketed.

"What are you collecting? Shells?"

"Glass. Thought I might make something. "

"You know it's illegal to pinch pebbles from the beach?"

"It's a fair cop, guvnor. D'you want to put the cuffs on me now?"

Lestrade laughs out loud.

"Don't tempt me…"

He sits down and leans into Billy, nuzzling his neck, whispering against his ear.

"I'll just caution you this time. What are you going to make?"

"Dunno yet. I'll have to see what the glass tells me to do. What colours I get when I clean it up. More rings, maybe. Might make one for you."

Lestrade grins.

"Don't make it too pretty. If you made me a ring I'd want to wear it. And I have a certain style to maintain at the Yard …"

Billy smiles.

"I really like you in your policeman clothes. They suit you. Suits and check shirts. Glad you don't like ties. You've got a nice neck. That grey coat always makes me feel like I want to be wrapped up in it with you…"

"When did you ever notice what I was wearing? Before, I mean…"

"I always noticed. When you'd stop under the arches to have a cigarette in the rain. Or when you came round to check the squat when it was thundering and lightning; the times you forgot to take your fish and chips with you when you left after asking me some really stupid questions that anyone could have answered.…"

Lestrade swallows again, flushing. _Why did I want to cool this off, again?_

"I worried about you. You were on the streets on your own. After I arrested you, you worked so hard to get clean. Seemed pretty smart. Thought I'd keep an eye on you. I knew you were one of Sherlock's mob. Didn't realise quite how special you were."

Lestrade shifts closer to Billy, hugs him tight. Watches the sea as the tide begins to come in.

** ***** **

"Is this a gay bar?"

Billy is a little doubtful. He's never been in a bar or club, apart from when he'd delivered or collected 'items' from back rooms. Then, he'd been scruffy, dirty, not the sort of person who'd be admitted as a customer. Back door stuff only.

"Yeah, but friendly and welcoming, according to Jackie Logan. They have karaoke. It'll be fun".

Lestrade had been wary of taking Billy to a gay club. He'd been in a few in his time with Vice, before he moved over to homicide. They hadn't been exactly comfortable places to be for a straight copper. Somewhere like that might be overwhelming, but he wants to go to a place where no one will be bothered if he holds Billy's hand, or asks him to dance.

He's done his research. This bar looks okay. They get drinks, and Lestrade steers Billy to a bench seat in the corner of the room, picking up the karaoke song list as they go.

"Here. Pick something. I'm in the mood for performing."

He grins his shark grin.

"Look for something we can duet on".

The list is full of techno/ disco songs, and they decide to play it safe and go for ABBA songs, choosing Erasure covers of the tracks, rather than the originals.

They choose their first song as a bit of a joke, playing up their gay couple cover personas. Lestrade laughs as he sings the first chorus of 'Gimme, gimme ( a man after midnight )', but they soon settle into it, sharing the vocals, laughing and getting into the swing of the evening. They get a good response from the crowd, and both draw appreciative glances from certain sections of the audience.

"That was fun. We should do more of this. "

"I'd like to play that live. It's got a terrific bass line…"

Lestrade shakes his head, grinning

"Don't know how it would go down in my usual place, though"

Their second song goes down even better. They share a microphone, singing directly to each other, Billy's voice husky in the choruses:

_"Voulez-vous_

_Take it now or leave it_

_Now is all we get_

_Nothing promised, no regrets "_

Billy is glowing as they jump down from the small stage, happier than Lestrade has ever seen him. On impulse, Lestrade pulls him into his arms and on to the small, crowded dance floor, holding him close as other singers take the stage. Billy winds his arms tightly around him, one arm round his waist, the other hand holding the back of his neck, leaning in, eyes closed, smiling.

"D'you mind if I cut in?"

Billy catches a glimpse of blond hair as he is shouldered aside. Shocked, he freezes for a moment, looking around stupidly for an escape route from the dance floor.

"Hold on, Billy."

Lestrade catches his wrist, holding it tight

"Are you STALKING me, Sergeant Knox?"

"Just dropped in for a listen to the music…"

"Bollocks. We're in Dundee, not St Andrews. How did you know we were here? Did Jackie tell you? You didn't just drop in…"

"You gave me the come-on…"

"No. I did not. And just so you get the message, I'll spell it out. I don't play away when I'm in a relationship. Now, piss off before I get annoyed".

Lestrade pulls Billy back into his arms, not even looking to see if Knox has left.

"If anyone else tries to cut in, just tell them to bugger off. I don't want to dance with anyone else. Don't want you to, either".

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade was singing and playing [this.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNzzK1dUtCI&sns=em): Turn the bass up.
> 
>  
> 
> Apparently, it is illegal to remove pebbles from British beaches, but someone taking a couple of pebbles is unlikely to be prosecuted.


	8. "I don't think I want to sleep, either"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Lestrade do their best…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. They've been sharing a bed for over six weeks. It's about time…
> 
> If you don't like sex scenes, you can miss this chapter out without losing any of the main story. 
> 
> If you do like sex scenes, be gentle with me. This was my first time, too.

September 25th: two years after The Fall

 

"That's nice"

Lestrade shivers, feeling Billy's breath hot on his neck.

Billy had loved the karaoke, loved the dancing, had been reassured by Lestrade's reaction to Knox's sudden appearance on the dance floor. He had rested his hand on Lestrade's knee as they drove home, had turned to kiss him clumsily as they stumbled, laughing, into the house. Lestrade had kissed back, hard, surprised at his own need.

"Billy…"

Lestrade's voice is thick

"If I share a bed with you tonight, I'm not going to want to sleep…"

" I don't think I want to sleep either…"

Billy takes Lestrade's hand and leads him to the bedroom. There is enough light filtering through the shutters to see the bed. He stops and turns, puts his hands on Lestrade's waist, bends his head down to kiss him. Lestrade is completely aroused.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes"

Billy whispers, voice trembling

"But I don't know what to do. I can't…you know."

"There are other things we can do. Ah, Billy, you're too tall…"

Lestrade isn't used to being the shorter half of a couple.

Billy sits on the edge of the bed.

"Better?"

Lestrade puts his hands on his shoulders, leans down so he can kiss him. Billy moans, kisses back, grabs at Lestrade's hips, pulls him in between his knees, slides his hands up both sides of his spine. Lestrade shudders, opens his mouth a little, runs his tongue over Billy's lips, pushes them apart, slides his tongue over Billy's teeth, between them, as Billy opens his mouth.

"Let me…"

Lestrade pulls Billy's t-shirt off, unbuckles his belt. He pulls him to his feet, kneels to pull off boots and socks, then jeans. Billy lets him do it, feels a little self-conscious when he is down to his underpants. Lestrade shrugs out of his own shirt, kicks off his own shoes and socks, unbuckles his own belt. Billy watches, smiling. Lestrade raises an eyebrow.

Billy realises Lestrade is waiting for him to join in. He reaches out, pulls down his zip, pushes his jeans and underpants down together, giggles as Lestrade's cock bounces free.

"That's cheating."

"Sorry. Couldn't help it. You're so lovely. All golden skin. Muscles. I can't…"

"What can't I do, Billy? What will upset you? I need to know."

Billy sits down, buries his face in Lestrade's belly. Whispers.

"Not up my bum. Not down my throat. Don't pull me down by my hair. Don't strangle me. Don't hit me…"

"All right. It's all right."

Lestrade is shocked by the litany. Strokes Billy's neck.

"I want to look at you. Will that be all right? Take your pants off?"

It isn't a total disaster. Lestrade has always been generous in bed, prided himself on being good at arousing a partner, and he does his best, even though this is the first time he has done it with a man.

He focuses on what he knows works for him. Explores a little, enjoying new sensations and tastes. He likes the smooth expanse of Billy's chest, his small nipples, his long legs. He loves, _loves_ Billy's tattoo. He strokes Billy's back, wants to stroke his arse, but holds back, not wanting to frighten him. He runs his fingers lightly over Billy's belly, kisses his belly button, licks his groin, gently bites his thigh. Billy arches his back, lifts his hips.

Lestrade takes a deep breath, flicks his tongue across Billy's scrotum, gently mouths his balls. A completely new sensation. He likes it. So does Billy, judging by the sounds he makes.

Lestrade lifts his head so he can see Billy's face. Billy moans in protest.

"Don't stop, Greg. Please…"

Lestrade runs his tongue down the centre of Billy's abdomen, finds the base of his cock and slides his tongue along to the tip. Another new sensation, and a new taste. He marvels at the silkiness of the skin, runs his tongue over the glans, tastes the secretions. Salty.

He opens his mouth, slides his lips down over Billy's cock, takes in as much as he is comfortable with. He is careful with his teeth, tries to figure out how to use his tongue, gags a bit before getting it right.

He wraps his hand around the base of Billy's cock, squeezes a little while he sucks, gently cups his other hand around Billy's balls. Billy moans, stretches his legs, clenches his toes, grips handfuls of bed sheets. Lestrade slides his lips up Billy's cock, wishes he could see his face as he sucks it in again.

Billy is in a place he has never imagined, lost in sensation. Sea-glass eyes turn almost black, stare into nowhere, mouth opens, panting.

Lestrade squeezes and sucks again, feeling Billy's balls tighten against his fingers.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK! GREG!"

Billy comes explosively into Lestrade's mouth, making him splutter and cough, as the younger man arches his back, then collapses, shuddering. Lestrade shuffles up the bed, rests on one elbow, looks down at Billy, smiles sheepishly.

"Okay, love?"

"Brilliant. I didn't know it would be like that."

"Me neither. I wasn't sure I'd do it right…"

"I made you choke, I'm sorry…"

"It's all right. First time. I'll do better next time. I'll know what to expect".

He laughs self-consciously. It was nicer than he'd thought it would be, even with the choking.

They snuggle down on the bed, Billy presses himself against Lestrade's back, wraps his arms around him. He kisses the back of his neck, nibbles his ear, runs his mouth down the side of Lestrade's throat, bites tentatively, drags his mouth higher when Lestrade moans, bites again, sucks hard, to mark. The bruise will be visible for days, a collar won't hide it.

"You taste nice."

Billy kisses his way down Lestrade's spine, bites his buttock gently. Lestrade shudders.

"Don't stop. Please"

"I might have to. I don't know what comes next…what do you want?"

Lestrade wants what he has done for Billy, but knows that's not going to happen. He wants to feel wanted, needed, loved.

"Touch me. Wherever you want."

Billy strokes Lestrade's back, thighs, hips, squeezes his buttocks.

"You've got a lovely bum."

Lestrade huffs out a laugh.

"No man has ever said that to me before."

"I bet a lot of blokes have thought it though.  Greg, I want to make you feel nice. You asked me what I didn't want you to do - what don't you want me to do?"

"Nothing. There's nothing I don't want you to do. I want you to make love to me. I want… I want to feel you inside me, Billy."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please. Please, Billy"

Lestrade is almost in tears, voice shaking.

"All right. I might not be very good at it…"

"I won't know. Don't care. Please…"

Billy slides his hand over Lestrade's buttocks, into the cleft between them, searches for Lestrade's opening, finds it and pushes one finger against it. Lestrade clenches tight. Billy whispers.

"I can't. You're too tense. And dry. Oh…"

He sits up and scrabbles in the bedside drawer for lubricant. It doesn't smell any better than it had when he first found it there. He can't bring himself to use it. He grabs the pot of Vaseline that is also in the drawer. Now he knows why. He pulls out condoms, just in case.

He kneels beside Lestrade, kisses his neck, nuzzles his ear.

"Are you still sure you want this?"

Lestrade moans

"Yeah"

Billy dips his fingers in the pot of Vaseline

"You'll need to relax. I can't.…Can you push up a bit?"

Lestrade groans, pushes himself up onto his knees, spreads them open. Billy gently presses again, pushes gently as Lestrade forces himself to relax. Billy's finger slides in up to the first knuckle. Lestrade gasps.

"More. Please"

Billy pushes in further, two knuckles, as Lestrade pushes back against the pressure. The finger goes in as far as it will go. Lestrade groans.

"Please…"

Billy pulls his finger out a little, pushes back in. And again, while Lestrade pushes against him.

"I want…fuck me, Billy. Please"

Billy goes still.

"It will hurt. I don't want to hurt you, Greg".

"Please. I want this…"

Billy moves to kneel between Lestrade's ankles. Dips the fingers of his free hand in the Vaseline. Starts to spread it along his own cock, achingly hard again. Remembers the condoms.

His fingers are slippery, he tries to rip the packet open with his teeth, tearing the edge of the condom in the process. The second one won't unroll. He uses both hands, but just manages to twist it up more. He whimpers in frustration as his cock starts to soften.

Lestrade can't take much more of this. The sounds coming from behind him are driving him mad. He turns onto his back, sees what's happening, sits up.

"Here, let me help."

He opens a third condom packet, holds it carefully between the fingertips of one hand, grasps Billy's cock firmly with the other. Billy's body responds in the way young men's bodies do, by getting hard again, immediately. Lestrade gently rolls the condom into place. _At least I know how to do that,_ he thinks.

"Thanks. I feel like such an idiot"

Lestrade rolls back over, climbs back up onto his hands and knees. Billy spreads more Vaseline on them both, and tries to push in gently, just a little. Lestrade freezes, then pushes back against him. The tight muscle gives a little, and Billy pushes his cock further in, carefully, letting Lestrade set the pace.

Lestrade's elbows shake and give way. He collapses down on to the bed, groaning. Billy goes with him, holds himself carefully still.

"Mister Lestrade, are you all right? Shall I stop?"

"No! Fucking hell, Billy, no… please… "

Billy braces himself against the foot of the bed, and pushes into him, slowly, holding onto his hips for leverage. Lestrade grabs and holds tight to the head rail of the bed, using it to help him push down. It takes a long time, but finally, Billy is as far in as he can go.

Lestrade moans. It hurts. He stings and burns as he stretches, but he doesn't want Billy to stop.

"Move, Billy. Fuck me"

Billy moves. Slowly at first, then faster as they work out how to move together, thrusts harder, reaches his long arm around Lestrade to grasp his cock, strokes in the same rhythm.

It stops hurting. Other sensations take over. Lestrade moans, gasps, finally goes absolutely still as his vision whites out and he comes, squeezing around Billy's cock, making him come too. _This feels right_ , he thinks. _It feels right…_

They collapse together, Billy withdraws carefully and lifts himself off Lestrade to lie against his side. He pulls the condom off, gets semen all over his fingers. He is too exhausted to sit up and look for tissues. He wipes his hand on the sheet. Giggles, nervously. 

"I mucked that up, didn't I? I'm sorry. The condoms…

"Gods, Billy. I think I might die of that if you get any better at it"

Lestrade laughs hysterically.

"That was…I shouldn't have even been wanting that."

His hysterical laughter turns into heaving sobs.

"Why has it taken me this long to find out how good this is?"

Billy nuzzles Lestrade's neck, wraps his arms round him.

"Sssh. Greg. It's all right. I'm glad you found it out with me."


	9. "I know how to fight. Just couldn't win"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft might be up to something. Lestrade is definitely up to something. Billy is in trouble.

November 14th: two years after The Fall

 

"Greg, why do you think Mycroft is in such a hurry for me to finish my thesis?"

Billy has been thinking about this for a while. Mycroft calls him for progress checks every so often, seems most concerned about the outcome of field trials. Sometimes the questions he asks make it obvious he has studied Billy's notes carefully.

"He must have kept copies of everything he gave me. I've been wondering why he's gone to all this trouble."

Lestrade considers the question.

"Maybe he's got plans to use the drug. Wants everything wrapped up properly before he does. You never know what Mycroft's got on the burner…"

"He's being a bit pushy. Nervy. Unusual for him to show it though. He's up to something."

"How far off finishing are you?"

"Not far. A couple of weeks, maybe a week if I really put my head down. Sometimes I think he knows more about my research than I do. He must have chemists and data analysts on tap who can confirm my results. If he wants to use the drug, he could probably just do it. It's been thoroughly trialled. He could easily get it licensed, I'm sure he knows the right people. I'm just writing up now, I'm not looking for new data…"

"Yeah. He could have just taken the research and got someone else to finish up the analysis. But he gave it back to you. I don't know what's in his head, Billy."

"He asked about delivery systems the other week. Pills versus injections, that sort of thing. Morphine's usually intravenous. It's not part of my study though. That would be for manufacturers to sort out. I used liquid for the field trials… I told him to ask medical people. Doctors would have a better handle on that than me… I think you're right. He wants to use it. No point asking him about it. He won't tell us."

Lestrade thinks about Billy's question while he gets ready to walk him to campus. Thinks about it some more after he leaves Billy and walks back to town. Mycroft isn't the type of man to let sentiment get in the way of something he needs to do. If he needs to use Billy's wonder drug, he will. He might have done already.

 _Why invest time and a lot of money in enabling a relative stranger to complete his thesis? A man he can only have known as one of his brother's homeless network?_ Lestrade shakes his head. Billy had it right. No point asking Mycroft to explain himself.

He puts the questions to the back of his mind. He has something else he needs to do today…

 

*********

 

 

"Is there a problem, Mr Knox?"

Knox throws his assignment down onto the table. It makes a louder noise than a few sheets of paper ought to.

"I should have a higher mark than this, Mr Wiggins. You've marked me down. This will affect my final grade. It's not fair. "

Billy tries hard to keep a grip on himself. To be professional.

"I think you'll find the mark **is** fair, and reflects the quality of your work. It is a pass grade. We can go over the paper in our workshop later. Or discuss it in your tutorial. "

"I should get at least a merit for this. You're being unfair because your boyfriend fancies me…"

There is a shocked intake of breath from several members of the class. A couple of sniggers.

Since the start of term, Lestrade has been meeting Billy after the afternoon workshop every week, appearing outside the building at the end of class. Billy had protested this, until Lestrade reminded him of his bodyguard role.

There had been interest shown in the handsome DCI, from both male and female students. In the first week of classes there was a spate of speculative whispering about the inspector, which Knox fuelled by suggesting Billy was Lestrade's lover. Once or twice, in recent weeks, lovebites on Lestrade's neck have induced sniggers as the students leave the class.

"I'm not going to discuss my personal life here. Your student union representative can advise you on how to proceed if you want to make an accusation of unprofessional behaviour. For now, I suggest you put your assignment away and concentrate on today's lesson."

Billy is shaken. He had marked Knox's assignment very carefully, and he suspects that he has given the sergeant a slightly more generous mark than he actually deserves, just to avoid accusations of bias. He turns to the board, calling up the PowerPoint for the lesson, trying to ignore whispers behind him.

After the class, he goes to see his supervisor, explains the situation. Is reassured that he has taken appropriate action.

The professor turns the meeting into a discussion of Billy's thesis, confirms that he thinks it is almost ready to submit. Suggests a submission date and estimates a Viva Voce examination date in mid-December. Explains that this is unusual fast-tracking, but these are exceptional circumstances. _Mycroft pulling strings_ , Billy thinks.

Billy thanks the professor, goes to meet Lestrade, who is leaning against the courtyard wall , scowling.

"You're late. There was more sniggering than usual today…"

"Had to see the prof. Bit of a problem with Sergeant Knox. Can we get a drink somewhere? I need to talk to you".

 

*********

 

"Right then. Spill"

Lestrade has taken Billy to a pub close to the campus. Bought two pints of heavy and ordered a sharing dish of fried whitebait.

"He accused me of giving him low marks because my boyfriend fancies him…"

"What? Billy, there is nothing going on there. You know that… wait. Did he say that in front of people?"

"Yeah. In front of the whole class. I know there's nothing going on…"

"He outed you in front of your class?"

"No, he'd already outed us both weeks ago. When you turned up the first time to meet me . I did the 'I don't discuss my personal life' speech; neither confirm nor deny type of thing. It was more that he more or less accused me of unprofessional behaviour today. That was what I needed to talk to the prof about."

"Sorry, Billy. He outed us as what, lovers? Weeks ago? Why didn't you mention it?"

"It was before we _were_ lovers. Before that karaoke night when you told him to piss off. We were a bit strained then, if you remember. I didn't want to make any more waves…anyway, as I said, I didn't give him the reaction he wanted. "

"So what's he up to? Why say I fancy him? And I repeat, I _don't_. Why say it in public? Why try to cause trouble between us?"

"I dont know.  I know he doesn't like me much, but I can't see why he'd carry on trying, especially after you made it clear you weren't interested. He needles all the time. It just feels as if he doesn't want us to be together for some reason. I can't make it out. Maybe he just really fancies you."

"Hmm. I think I need to put my copper's head on. Definitely something going on…"

The whitebait arrives. Billy looks at the pile of little fish doubtfully.

"Okay. No knives and forks. Is this more filthy food?"

Lestrade chuckles.

"Squeeze lemon over them and eat them with your fingers. And don't let your beer get warm. "

He demonstrates, picking up a fish and eating it whole, just as Inspector Logan appears uninvited at the corner of their table.

"Inspector. Jackie. He's trying to persuade me to eat the heads on these fishes. Is he winding me up?"

"No, Bill. That's the right way to eat them. Although I prefer vinegar to lemon".

The inspector slides on to the bench seat next to Lestrade and steals a handful of whitebait.

"Greg. A word, please. We picked up a dodgy character last night. We had to let him go, but he had some interesting pictures in his phone…"

"If you two are going to talk shop, I'm going for a pee. Jackie, I'll get you a pint on my way back. Heavy?"

"Aye, thanks Bill. This shouldn't take long."

Billy stands up, leaving his despatch bag on the bench next to Lestrade. Makes his way to the gents lavatory. Pees, and is washing his hands when the door opens, admitting Sergeant Knox and two men Billy doesn't know, although one looks vaguely familiar.

One stands in front of the door. The other raises an eyebrow at Knox.

"This him? The poof?"

"Aye. It'll be a memory stick. Probably in his pocket…"

"Turn your pockets out, sweetie…"

The accent is Estuary English. The way the man holds himself screams "enforcer". Billy has seen this type before. He shivers. He can't make a run for it while the other man is guarding the door.

"What do you want?"

"Memory stick, our friend says. You've got some files that my boss wants. Empty your pockets. Or we'll do it for you…"

Billy backs up against the sinks

"What files? I'm just a student. I haven't got any important stuff…"

The burly man spins Billy away from the sinks, grabs his arms, holds them behind his back.

"Check his pockets, blondie."

Knox sneers, rubbing his hands suggestively over Billy's hips, squeezing his crotch, hard, before feeling in his jeans pockets.

"What's this?"

He pulls out a small paper bag, opens it, and tips a silver wire ring, strung with four stones, into his hand.

"Present for the boyfriend? Pretty. Oops."

He drops the ring on the floor, stamping on it. Billy moans. The ring was going to be a present for Lestrade.

Knox moves in towards Billy again, reaching for his shirt pocket.

Billy leans away from him, then slams his forehead into the sergeant's face, hearing the satisfying crunch of a broken nose. Knox goes down and hell breaks loose.

The sergeant tries to get up, and Billy kicks out at him, knocking him down again. He pulls himself out of the grip of the man holding him, swinging fists, kicking, biting.

They are clearly not expecting him to put up a fight, seeing the slender, gay academic. But Billy is a Camden lowlife, has enough of a fight in him to mark all three of his assailants before being knocked down.

The sergeant rifles through all Billy's pockets. No sign of a memory stick. He rips open Billy's shirt, looking for a chain or lanyard around his neck. Nothing.

"He hasn't got it on him. Leave him. Let's get out of here."

Knox aims a last, vicious kick at Billy's groin before making his escape, leaving Billy curled on the floor, bleeding.

He manages to grab Lestrade's ring from the floor before passing out.

 

*********

 

Logan and Lestrade have finished talking shop. Logan has described the photographs on his prisoner's phone. Pictures of Billy and Lestrade, together and separate.

"It looks as if he's identifying times when we'll be by ourselves. Looking for patterns. Is he after me or Billy though? And who is he?"

"Not local. London, we think. He wasn't talking much. Not sure if he's on his own, or if there are others. I've got Tom looking around".

Lestrade looks over at the bar. Frowns. 

"Where's Billy with your beer? He's been ages…. I'd better go check he's all right. Keep our seats, will you Jackie?"

Lestrade shoves through the crowd by the bar, pushes his way into the gents.

"Oh, fuck. Billy…"

Billy is curled around himself, bleeding from cuts on his forehead, cheekbone and lip. Bruised and battered. Lestrade kneels beside him, feeling him tense up at his touch, talking quietly until the younger man relaxes and uncurls.

"Let's get you cleaned up. Can you stand?"

Billy nods, wincing as his head throbs. Lestrade grabs a handful of paper towels, runs them under the tap, dabs at Billy's injuries.

"What happened?"

"Three of them. Jumped me. Looking for my memory stick. It's in my bag… where's my bag?"

"Jackie Logan's keeping our seats. I left it there. Let's go make sure it's okay."

They go back through the bar. Logan is still at the table. He looks at Billy, clearly shocked at the sight of the blood and scrapes. His eyes narrow at the sight of the bruises blooming on the young man's forehead.

"What happened to you? That's a Glasgow kiss if ever I saw one. Who was on the other end?"

"Jackie. Go and get yourself a pint, mate. I need a quiet word with Billy…"

The inspector nods. Gets up and goes to the bar. Billy grabs his bag from the bench, checks that his memory stick is still inside it. Sighs with relief. Pulls the battered ring from his pocket and hands it to Lestrade.

"What's this, Billy?"

"Your Christmas present. Blondie stamped on it. Thought it was funny. I lost my temper and nutted him."

"Blondie? _Knox_ did this?"

"Him and two others. Thugs. Only one of them spoke. London-sounding. Estuary. They searched me, not in a friendly way. After my research, I think. Knox kicked me in the balls. Parting gift. I think I broke his nose. Hope I did. I bit one of them. Landed a couple of hits. But there were three of them, Greg. I'm sorry. Never occurred to me I wouldn't be safe in the lav."

Lestrade looks at the ring Billy has given him.

"This is glass, isn't it? Like your rings, but with all the colours in your eyes. You made this for me…"

"It was going to be for your birthday. But I got the date wrong, so I kept hold of it to give you at Christmas. I wanted to surprise you. It's all mangled now…"

"It's lovely, Billy. Can I wear it now? The wire is soft enough to be pushed back into shape. And it's battle-scarred. Like us."

He pushes it onto the third finger of his left hand. Billy's eyes widen.

"Okay on that one? Or have I misread something?"

"Okay on that one"

Billy grins. Winces as the split in his lip opens up again.

"Seeing as we're doing Christmas early…"

Lestrade pulls a small package from his pocket, places it on the table in front of the younger man. Billy unwraps the paper. A small velvet box. Opens it.

Another ring, something like Billy's rings, but more simple. A vaguely octahedral stone wrapped around with gold wire. The stone is pale yellow, translucent, not polished, with a dark red stain inside it.

"It's beautiful. It looks a bit like my style, but it's not drilled…"

"Yeah. I like the ones you wear. Wanted something similar. I picked the stone up when I was on a job in South Africa a few years ago. It was just lying on the surface in an old mine. Been carrying it around ever since. Sort of lucky charm. Didn't realise what it was when I pocketed it. I've only just found out. It's flawed. Bit like me. I liked it. Technically, I suppose I've nicked it. Don't tell anyone. Took about half an hour to explain what I wanted to the jeweller, once he had stopped gaping at the size of the stone. He wanted to cut it, make it sparkle, but I didn't want that."

He takes the ring, grasps Billy's left hand, pushes the ring onto the third finger.

" I know it's a bit soon, but… It's a diamond, Billy. Will you wear it for me?"

"Yes. Wait. Did you just propose to me?"

"Yes. And you accepted. No backing out now. "

He leans over and kisses him gently. There is a scattering of applause from tables nearby. The exchange of rings has not gone unnoticed. They both flush, smiling.

Logan plonks his beer on the table, pulls up a stool and sits down, looking carefully at Billy.

"So. Who's got a busted nose or teeth?"

"Sergeant Knox"

"Tom? Why?"

"Him and two of his mates beat me up in the gents. Knocked me out. Knox kicked me in the bollocks. They were looking for my research files. Didn't get them. I bit one of them. Drew blood. Knox has got a broken nose, I think. The other bloke will have bruises. I know how to fight, Mr Logan. Just couldn't win against three of them."

"You got a good look at them? They spoke? You heard their voices?"

"One voice. London, I reckon, or Essex. Thought I recognised one of them. I think he might have been on the train when we came up from London. I'd know them both if I saw them again. Greg, I think this might be connected to what we were talking about before…"

"Yeah. Jackie, Knox has been stalking me for weeks. And trying to get Bill into bother at work, making snide comments. He outed us to Bill's students, accused him of unprofessional behaviour. We think he's been trying to separate us. Now he's involved in trying to get Billy's research. I'm going to have to let our friend in high places know about this."

"Aye. He'll have to be informed. I'll pull Tom in. Find out what this is about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Heavy' is a word in common usage in Scotland. It refers to beer between 3.5% and 4.0% abv
> 
> "Estuary" refers to the Thames Estuary, stretching between East London and the North Sea. The estuary accent is a slightly less pronounced cockney variant. It is sometimes known as an 'Essex' accent.


	10. "I might have stuck a fork in Blondie's eye…"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cavalry arrive…

November 14th: two years after The Fall

 

"Okay. We'll save you a Guinness"

Lestrade switches off his phone. He has reported the situation to Mycroft Holmes; taken the expected blistering reprimand on the chin; asked Billy to intervene when Mycroft threatened to replace him as bodyguard; calmed the man by explaining that the thesis is almost complete and safe.

"He's coming. He's got his people looking for Knox and his mates. He'll want to interview you, Jackie, I expect. It'll take a couple of hours if he comes on a direct flight from London. Knowing Mycroft, he's got a quicker way…"

He sighs.

"Stick those cans in the freezer for ten minutes, Jackie. They need to chill. I'm going to see how Bill's doing."

They had ordered a double batch of whitebait to take away, grabbed a six pack of Guinness from the off-licence, and Logan had given them a lift home in his patrol car.

Lestrade had invited Logan to join them for the duration of the investigation, needing a local ally, and realising how hurt the inspector had been, professionally and personally, by his sergeant's actions.

Lestrade had steered Billy upstairs as soon as they were inside the house.

"Bathroom, Billy. You need to clean up and change your clothes"

Billy had allowed himself to be stripped and put into the shower. When Lestrade returns after talking to Mycroft, he is sitting on the wet room bench, slumped and soaking wet.

"Come on Billy. You'll freeze. Let's get you dried off."

Lestrade wraps the young man in a fluffy white towel, pats his arms, back, legs dry. Sucks air in through his teeth as the young man winces and bats his hand away when he tries to dry between his legs.

"Let me see. Don't be ridiculous Billy. I've seen you naked before."

He moans as he sees the huge bruise at the top of Billy's left thigh, sees the swollen, purpled mess that is Billy's scrotum.

"Ah, Billy. That must hurt. Do you want ice for it?"

"No. Just loose clothes "

Billy laughs tearfully.

"No sex tonight, Greg. Sorry. And I'll need to sit on a cushion."

"I hope you _did_ break his nose. Bastard. Mycroft's on his way. Best get dressed. "

Billy douses himself with violet cologne, hobbles to the dressing room, pulls on soft vintage underpants and loose button-fly jeans. Looks through a pile of t-shirts, finding a pale greyish-mauve grandad vest with a delicate lace edging around the neck and cuffs. He had seen it on a charity stall and liked it, but hadn't been brave enough to wear it yet. He Leaves his feet bare. Puts all six glass and silver rings on his right hand, leaving Lestrade's diamond alone on his left.

Lestrade smiles.

"Lace?"

"It's a man's vest, Greg. If it was a girl's one it would button up the other way. I need a bit of pretty to make up for the state of my face…"

"Your face will heal. No bones broken. I'm more worried about your bollocks. I think you should see a doctor."

"I'll see what the bruises are like in the morning. Can we get something to eat? I was looking forward to those little fishes…"

*********

Lestrade settles Billy in the corner of the kitchen bench, piling up cushions to make him comfortable. Logan pops the ring pull on a can, pours a frothy dark beer into a glass, hands it to Billy.

"Guinness. It's good for you. Drink up."

Billy tries the dark brew. Smiles.

"I like it. What are you going to cook, Greg?"

"Twice-fried whitebait with lemon. Tomato, chilli and onion salad."

"You brought the fishes home with you? Brilliant."

Lestrade throws the whitebait into a wok with a drop of olive oil. Fries them until they are hot and extra-crisp. Piles them onto a platter, passes it to Logan, who has taken off his uniform tunic to reveal muscular, freckled arms in a rolled-up sleeved shirt. The inspector places the platter in the middle of the table, snags a chair and sits down.

Lestrade piles salad and whitebait on a plate for Billy, waving at him to start eating while he butters some bread.

"Help yourself, Jackie. Billy, be careful with the salad, I didn't think about your split lip when I put the chilli in it. Sorry, love."

They work their way through the meal, making small talk. There will be time for serious conversation later, when Mycroft arrives.

Logan admires their rings, offering congratulations on their engagement.

"You know, you haven't actually _asked_ me to marry you…"

Billy frowns.

"Okay. Will you marry me, Bill Wiggins?"

"Yes, Gregor Lestrade. I will."

Billy laughs

"But I want to wear a tiara…"

"A tiara. Okay. It'll probably look good on you. Like that lace. But no frocks."

"I'm not a _girl_ , Greg."

"No. That you are definitely not."

Lestrade blushes. Logan chokes, spluttering Guinness. Billy and Lestrade laugh. The doorbell rings.

"Mycroft? That was quick…"

Lestrade goes to open the door. Takes a punch to the midriff that doubles him over, gasping, as three men push past him.

"Where's the poof?"

"Which one? Hello, Tom. Come to try again, have you?"

"Jackie. This isn't what it looks like. They made me…"

"Shut up blondie."

Estuary Man gestures at Billy.

"Give us your files and we'll say no more. Don't want any trouble".

" _But you're bound to get some."_

Lestrade speaks calmly and evenly. H&K aimed steadily at the back of estuary man's head.

"A mistake to leave the armed man free to shoot you in the back of the head. Especially when you've very recently beaten up his fiancé…"

_"An even bigger mistake to fail to notice the other armed men following you in the big black van…"_

A very posh drawl, from a tall, snappily dressed man whose three-piece suit must have cost several thousand pounds.

Logan stares, mouth open.

"Mr H."

Billy smiles. Mycroft smiles back, gesturing his team forward to take the three intruders into custody.

"Mr Wiggins. I wish we were meeting in more pleasant circumstances. There are things I need to discuss with you, but first, how are you feeling? Your injuries are superficial, I hope?"

"Yes. Except maybe where blondie here kicked me…"

"He won't see a doctor, Mycroft."

 _"Yes he will._ "

"John? What are you doing here?"

Lestrade grabs the newcomer in a bear hug.

"Mycroft kidnapped me, Greg. Said I could have a couple of days at the seaside…hello Bill. I understand you're my patient? I'd better check you over. Bedroom?"

"Okay, Dr Watson"

Billy sighs, resigned. Leads the way upstairs, wincing as he walks.

"Nice place you've got here, Bill. You and Greg getting on all right? Bloody hell…"

Watson gapes at the bedroom.

"Um. The two of you…?"

"Yeah. It was a bit weird to start with, but he's lovely to sleep with. Especially under a sheepskin."

Billy flushes

"I'm going to always have sheepskins on my bed from now on, wherever I live. Even if I'm squatting again. Even if I have to nick one."

He smiles, tearfully.

"It's been really nice living here with him. But I expect we'll have to go back to London now that all this business has kicked off. I might have known I wouldn't get my PhD. Too much to expect, really."

"PhD, Bill? Wait- this wonder drug Mycroft's been on about, wanting to know about delivery systems, that's your research? It's ground-breaking. That's what those heavies were after, isn't it? Why won't you get your PhD?"

"My thesis is almost finished. Due to be submitted next week. Viva in a fortnight. Course, I'd have to be here for the Viva…"

"Ah. Well, stay here then. Don't let him bully you. I'll back you up. So will Greg, I'm sure. Now, strip off and let me check you over. You've obviously been kicked in the testicles- the way you're walking gives that away, and you're hunching. Rib damage, probably punches to the kidneys as well. How'd you get the facial injury? You nut someone? Ah, yeah. The blond bloke had a broken nose, by the look of it. Well done."

Billy sighs. Strips. Lies down on his belly so Watson can check out his back. Watson gapes as Billy's tattoo is revealed in all its glory.

"Blimey, Bill. How long did that take?"

"About a year, on and off. I only got a few feathers at a time. When I needed to. Greg's the only other person who's seen it all, apart from my ink man. He says he likes it.…"

"I bet he does. It's spectacular. If you were mine, I'd never want you to get dressed."

Billy laughs

"I said that out loud, didn't I?"

Watson examines Billy's back, paying attention to ribs and soft tissue around the kidney area. Billy winces as he makes contact with bruises that are just forming.

"Sorry. No real damage here. Bruises on your shoulders and hips. You curled up to protect your vitals? Turn over".

Billy turns, groaning. Watson sits on the edge of the bed, kneads the bruise at the top of Billy's thigh, moves his penis aside, palpates his scrotum, squeezing one testicle, then the other. Billy hisses.

"Sorry, mate. I know it hurts. Need to check for ruptures. The testicles are okay. I'll need to check your prostate hasn't been damaged. Lie on your side and pull your knees up. "

"Do you have to do that, Dr Watson? I feel all right inside…"

Billy trembles with fear. Watson frowns.

"What's wrong, Bill? I only need to slip a finger in. You'll have had a lot more than that from Greg, I expect."

"I haven't. He hasn't. I haven't been able to let anyone touch me there since.…Please don't."

"Since what, Bill? Were you assaulted? Raped?"

"Gang-rape. Greg knows."

"I have to check, Billy. If there's prostate damage there could be all sorts of difficulties for you down the line. Come on now, let me examine you. Put your mind at rest. Pull your knees up now. I'll be quick."

Billy grits his teeth, pulls his knees up. Watson carries out the examination efficiently and professionally.

"You're okay, Billy. That wasn't so bad, was it? You did really well. There's no sign of any rupture. No rectal damage or fistulas from the time of the rape. Is that what you were worried about? You didn't go to hospital back then, I take it? Get dressed now, let's go back downstairs."

"Thank you, Dr Watson. Um. Could you turn your back, I…"

"It's a normal reaction, Bill. I've seen men get erections from rectal examinations a million times. Proves you're human. Do you want to tell Greg you're okay, or shall I?"

"Would you, please? I'll get embarrassed. It'd be better coming from you."

"Okay."

Billy dresses, and they go downstairs. Watson beckons Lestrade over, walks him out to the garden, while Billy goes to talk to Mycroft.

"How is he, John? Silly bugger didn't want to see a doctor. He's well bruised up…"

"He's all right, Greg. There's a lot of swelling and bruising of his scrotum, but no testicular damage that I can see. The swelling should go down in a day or two. No sex for a few days, I'm afraid. Another thing. Sometimes a vicious kick in the balls can cause internal damage to the prostate, so I did a rectal examination. He didn't want me to. Was scared I'd hurt him. He told me he'd been gang-raped a few years back. Said you knew?"

"Yeah. He told me. I've not tried to bugger him…"

"You'll want to though."

He coughs, laughs, flushes.

"Sorry, Greg. I just had a vision of you and him, with that tattoo. Bloody hell. That's wet dream material…I had no idea you were, well…"

"Shut up, John. Yeah. I thought I was straight as well, till I met Billy. Turns out I like taking it up the arse."

"Anyway. It seems he didn't seek medical attention back then. Coped on his own. He was worried he'd sustained permanent damage. I was able to reassure him that there was no rectal damage. No fistula, no prostate damage. He needs to get over the rape psychologically, though. It'll take time. I got the sense that you're his first, since then. You'll need to be patient with him, Greg. Don't pressure him."

"I won't. He can take as long as he needs. What we do now is good. I'm not missing out."

"Um. You might change your mind about that, at some point. He knows I'm talking to you by the way. Didn't want to tell you he'd let me stick a finger up there when he wouldn't let you, I expect. "

"Silly sod. Thanks, John"

*********

"Inspector Logan. We haven't met before, but we might need to meet again…"

"You're Mycroft Holmes? Good to meet you in person."

Logan takes Mycroft's proffered hand in a strong grip. Smiles broadly.

"I'll speak with you in a little while, if I may, Inspector. For now, I have business to discuss with Mr Wiggins."

Mycroft ushers Billy into the sitting room where they can be private.

"Mr H. They didn't get the files…"

"Yes, I know, Bill. You defended yourself very well. I only wish DCI Lestrade had been a little more vigilant."

"That's not fair, Mr H. He's hardly left my side. He escorts me to the university and back, goes everywhere with me. Sleeps with me. But you knew that. You gave us this place with only one bed. Anyway. I went to the toilet. That's all. Do you expect him to hold my knob while I wee?"

Mycroft blanches

"Sorry, Mr H. That was crude, but really, it wasn't his fault. It was all over in a couple of minutes. And he was in control of the situation when you got here. Him and Inspector Logan would have taken them down. I might have stuck a fork in blondie's eye…"

"All right Bill. I'm not firing him. You can stop defending him. Who is blondie?"

" Sergeant Knox."

"Ah, yes. I've just had a report from your university supervisor on Sergeant Knox. Not a good one. Apparently, he has been asking a lot of questions, and today he was seen just outside the window of the room where you discussed your final submission date with the professor. He was spying on you. That is why the gang made their move today. They wanted your research before it got into the public domain. Now, Bill, things have become more urgent. How quickly can you have your thesis ready for submission? Your supervisor thinks next week. Is there any possibility of you finishing it earlier?"

"It just needs tidying up. If I stay up working all night, I can probably get it done by tomorrow night…"

"Bill. I'm going to ask you to do that, if you don't mind. Finish it, submit it electronically to your supervisor, with an electronic copy for the departmental admin team, and a further electronic copy for me, please, tomorrow evening. I will arrange for the printing and binding of the required hard copies the following day. Once they have been disseminated, your files are of no further use to the people who are trying to steal them. They will not be able to suppress your research again. And you will no longer be in danger. After submission, you will just be able to concentrate on finishing your teaching contract and preparing yourself for your Viva examination. I understand that will be set for two weeks from today. You will get your results in time for Christmas."

Billy smiles tearily

"Thank you, Mr H. I thought you might order me back to London today…"

"No, Bill. I'm not planning to 'order' you back to London at all. You may stay here, in this house, as long as you like. Although you might wish to accompany Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade when he returns to New Scotland Yard in the New Year…"

Mycroft smiles.

"I understand that you and Gregor have decided to formalise your relationship? May I see your ring?"

Billy holds out his hand.

"How beautiful. A yellow diamond. I wonder if he realises the value of that stone? Not that I think he would ask for it back, of course."

" I love it. I love him, too. I just hope I can make him happy. Hope he doesn't change his mind when we go back and have to live in real life again."

"If we could accurately predict the future, life would become very dull, Bill."

"Yeah. I suppose so."

Billy stretches, wincing as he pulls bruised muscles.

"Right then, I'd better get cracking if I'm going to email you this thesis tomorrow. Have you got somewhere to stay? What about Dr Watson?"

"We'll be staying here tonight. Inspector Logan as well, I hope. Taking shifts keeping you awake. This sofa looks comfortable, and there's the day bed in the study. We'll take stock in the morning. I'll have a word with everyone, bring them up to speed, and I'll pop in to see you later. Talk to Dr Watson if you get very fatigued."

They leave the sitting room. Mycroft goes to the kitchen, Billy heads upstairs to his study.


	11. "Urgh. You bastard."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy has a job to do. Lestrade is annoyed. Mycroft is smitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little more of Jack Logan here than we're used to. Mycroft deserves somebody, and everyone else is busy…

November 14th: two years after The Fall 

"Are you out of your mind? He's been beaten up. He needs to rest…"

"I know, Gregor. He'll be exhausted by tomorrow night . But it was his suggestion. And he's right. I expect he will finish earlier than he expects to. We need to be supportive, make sure he eats, drinks. Dr Watson can help him, perhaps a stimulant…"

"No, Mycroft. Over my dead body. He's an ex-junkie. I won't allow drugs. He's finding it hard in any case, staying clean. I won't have him undermined."

Lestrade is fuming. He wants to take Billy to bed, to cuddle and comfort him. Not keep him awake working for another twenty four hours.

"Gregor. Please. Once he has finished tidying up the thesis, emailed it off, he will be out of danger. One more day. That's all he needs. Now, will you go and keep him company for a while? I will take over from you later."

Lestrade sighs. Goes to make a cup of chamomile tea to take up to Billy. Mycroft turns to Watson.

"John. Is there anything you could give Bill that will not awaken his addiction?"

"No, Mycroft. Fatigue is likely to start that on its own. We need to monitor him carefully. Caffeine every so often is all I can offer, and not too much of that, either."

"Very well. Can I ask you to check on him every couple of hours, please? I suspect Gregor won't want to leave him…"

"Okay. We should all try to get as much rest as we can. What are the sleeping arrangements for us? I'd like to try that sheepskin, if Greg doesn't mind. The couch next door will probably be comfortable…"

He turns to Logan.

"Are you staying, inspector?"

"Aye. I feel I'm partly responsible. Knox is my sergeant…"

Mycroft yawns.

"Go and ask Gregor if he minds you borrowing his bed for an hour, John. If not, there is a daybed in the study. Inspector Logan and I need to have a chat. Would you like coffee, inspector?"

"Call me Jack, please. Do you mind if I call you Mycroft ?"

"Please do, Jack. Tell me, have you never thought of moving across to CID?"

"No. I like the uniform."

He smiles, green eyes twinkling. Mycroft smiles.

"I'm partial to a good pair of shoulders in a navy blue tunic myself. But to get to business, are you prepared to remain as liaison with DCI Lestrade? I have to say, I was pleased to find you here tonight."

"Aye. I like Greg. And Billy. I'm very disappointed that Tom Knox has gone wrong. I want to find out what's behind that. You know we picked up one of the men yesterday?"

"Yes. It is unfortunate you didn't have any reason to detain him then. But at least we have him now, and his companion. I will have my people talk to them. We have effective questioning methods."

They discuss the events of the last few weeks. Mycroft clearly knows more than he is saying about the gang's interest in Billy's research. Logan brings Mycroft up to date on Knox's growing interest in Lestrade.

"Jack. To clarify, you are in a relationship with Knox?"

"Not any more. Was, for a while. I'm not sure about how real it was on his side. He made an instant play for Greg, but outed Bill and was really quite horrible to him about his sexuality. I feel a bit used. And stupid."

"Ah. Sentiment can make us act stupidly, can't it? Perhaps you'll find someone more worthwhile. Someone who will appreciate your qualities…"

"Appreciate my freckles, maybe. Tom always hated them…"

"I rather like freckles. I have them myself, of course."

Mycroft makes coffee. Passes a mug to Logan. They drink, Mycroft not taking his eyes from Logan.

"Shall we take these next door? I understand there's a big couch…"

"Okay. Are you flirting with me, Mycroft?"

"Just a little bit. Do you mind?"

"No. I need a bit of something to cheer me up…"

Mycroft leads the way into the sitting room. Settles himself at one end of the couch, pats the seat beside him to indicate that Logan should sit next to him.

He had been instantly, and powerfully, attracted to the fiery-haired policeman. Decides to take a chance. He leans in and kisses the corner of the inspector's mouth.

Logan smiles, puts his coffee mug down, takes Mycroft's coffee mug, puts that down too, turns, puts his hands on Mycroft's shoulders and kisses him thoroughly. Mycroft moans and kisses back.

They shift position. Mycroft shuffles back into the corner of the sofa, one foot on the floor. Logan settles himself in the vee of Mycroft's legs, puts his feet up,and leans back, his head on the other man's shoulder.

Mycroft drapes his left arm over the inspector's shoulder, lazily playing with his shirt buttons, undoing the top three.

"You have good shoulders, Jack. I imagine you look very good in dress uniform. And out of it. "

"Aye. Maybe you'll get to see how good. You're a fast mover, Mycroft. Used to getting what you want, I expect. What exactly do you want?"

"This, to be going on with."

He slides his hand inside Logan's shirt, strokes his chest, rubs his thumb over the inspector's nipple, drawing a hiss from the policeman.

"You should try to sleep."

"Not easy, with you doing that."

Mycroft smiles, does it again. Reaches around with his other hand to loosen Logan's belt, undo the waistband of his trousers, lower the zip a couple of inches. He breathes in Logan's ear.

"I won't touch your penis, Jack. Someone might come in and see. However…"

He shifts back further into the corner of the sofa, keeps his left hand inside Logan's shirt, still rubbing the nipple, making the inspector arch his back.

He moves his right hand, brings it into the gap between their bodies, slides it down into the loosened waistband, inside the cotton jersey underpants, squeezes Logan's buttock, slips fingers between the buttocks, finds Logan's arsehole. Presses the tip of a finger in and holds it there while the inspector squirms and moans.

"Still not sleepy?"

"Urgh. You bastard. Just you wait until I'm less tired…"

"Mmmm. Don't make me wait too long."

*********

Logan wakes. Dawn is breaking, and he is alone on the couch. He must have slept really heavily, he realises, if Mycroft had got out from under him without waking him.

Not only that, but he had put a cushion under his head and covered him with a knitted throw.

He smiles, remembering the feel of Mycroft's finger in his arse. Was that a one-off? Well, if it was, it was fun.

"Ah. You're awake"

Mycroft has come in quietly. Now he sits on the edge of the sofa, strokes Logan's hair.

"I've been checking on Bill. Didn't want to disturb you…"

"I wondered where you'd gone."

Logan shuffles over, making room for Mycroft under the throw. The two men lie quietly, Mycroft holding Logan tightly in his arms.

"Do you mind if we just sleep, Jack? Perhaps we can find somewhere more comfortable tomorrow."

"I've a house. Down near the beach. It's got an empty bed in it…"

"Yes. That would do very well".


	12. Three men in a tub…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like it says on the tin, three men in a tub

November 15th: two years after The Fall

 

"Mycroft. Mycroft, wake up"

Lestrade shakes Mycroft's shoulder gently, trying not to disturb Logan, who is squashed between the British Government and the back of the sofa. Mycroft sits up carefully, slides off the sofa, covers Logan with the throw and strokes his hair gently. He gestures Lestrade out of the room, following and closing the door quietly.

"What is it, Gregor? Has something happened?"

"You've pulled quickly, I see"

Lestrade raises an eyebrow. Mycroft has the grace to blush.

"He feels guilty about his sergeant's actions. We had a long chat. He got sleepy. It seemed churlish to leave…"

"Yeah. Well it's your business. He's a nice bloke…"

"I'm sure you didn't wake me to talk about inspector Logan…"

"Billy's exhausted, Mycroft. He needs to sleep. He's finished tweaking the thesis…"

"Excellent. I thought it wouldn't take as long as he said…"

"It needs a final proofread, but he's so tired he can't see if he's made typos or not. It needs someone who understands academic writing to look it over. You would seem to be the obvious candidate…"

"Yes, of course. Let me get some coffee, and I'll go straight up. Ah, Gregor. John may be in your bed…"

"Well, I doubt that Billy and I will be indulging in wild athletic sex any time soon. It's a big bed. I'll shove him over to the edge."

*********

Billy sits at the desk, shaking with fatigue. He has worked for eleven hours straight, hunched over the keyboard, sustained by cups of coffee and chamomile tea. Watson has looked in several times to check he was okay. Lestrade has become increasingly concerned as Billy grows more and more tired.

"I feel sick, Greg"

"Here, drink this. It will help"

Lestrade hands Billy the glass of milk he has brought up from the kitchen.

"Bill, I will do a final proofread of your thesis. Gregor will take you to bed now. You've done very well."

Mycroft puts an arm under the younger man's shoulder, helps him out of his seat.

"I will save the final version under a new file name so that your original and the final versions are both retained. When you wake up, call me and I will give you email addresses to send the document to."

"Okay. Thanks, Mr H."

Billy turns to Lestrade, almost in tears.

"Can I go to bed now please, Greg?"

Lestrade helps Billy up the spiral stairs, steers him to the far side of the big bed, undoes the young mans trousers and slides them down, then helps him to sit carefully on the edge of the bed, gently lifting his knees and lying him down, still in his underpants and t-shirt. Billy smiles a watery smile, and closes his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

Lestrade changes into pyjama pants and climbs into the middle of the bed. There is enough space that he can lie down without disturbing either Billy or Watson, who is asleep, fully clothed, on the other side of the bed.

He sighs, shuffles a little closer to Billy, putting an arm around his waist. He dozes for a while, listening to Billy's quiet breathing.

"Are you asleep, Greg?"

Greg turns over, his back pressed against Billy, facing Watson.

"No, John. Wide awake. Talk quietly, though. Billy's asleep. "

"So. You two?"

"Yeah. It's weird, John. I've always been a ladies' man. I was popular. I was married for ten years, for god's sake. And now this. I'm in love, John. I feel like a teenager. I'm scared he'll get tired of me. Terrified, to tell the truth. He's beautiful. And so clever. He's not had much of a life, John, but he'll have one now. What if it doesn't have room for me in it?"

"You're getting married…"

"I want to. But maybe it's a bit soon. When he's had time to think, to reflect… now he's finished his thesis…"

"Looks to me as if he's nutty over you. You're a DCI, you're not stupid. And you're a pretty bloke yourself. I always understood why Sherlock fancied you. You fit in wherever you find yourself. You're empathic. You look after him. And you love him. That's obvious. Why on earth wouldn't he want you?"

"I'm twice his age, John. Maybe someone younger would … "

"Maybe you should let him decide for himself?"

Lestrade huffs out a breath.

"Yeah. I guess…"

A moan from Billy interrupts them. A low moan of pain, rising into a whine as Billy wakes and tries to move.

"Billy, what's wrong, love?"

Lestrade turns to cradle the young man in his arms, to try to soothe him.

"Greg? Greg, it hurts. "

Billy is sweating, eyes dilated in pain.

"John? What's happening here?"  

"It's all right, Greg. Billy, you've been kicked in the balls. And you've sat on a hard study chair for hours. The swelling and bruising will hurt like hell for a few hours, but it will start to go down tomorrow. I'll get you some painkillers - just paracetamol though. I daren't give you codeine, with your background. Sponging with cold water could help, too. "

Watson rolls off the bed, runs downstairs. Comes back with a bowl of ice water, a towel, painkillers. A bottle of mineral water tucked under his arm. Billy swallows two paracetamol capsules. Washes them down with mineral water.

"Give me the sponge, Dr Watson. I'll do it myself."

Watson rinses the sponge in the ice water. Hands it over. Lestrade winces in sympathy as Billy carefully sponges himself off.

"Maybe you should stay out of the power shower as well. It might pummel you a bit too much. You could use the hot tub - set it to cool?"

"Sorry? Greg? You've got a hot tub? Where?"

Watson is incensed that they have kept this information from him.

"On the balcony outside the bathroom. It's instead of a bathtub…"

"I need to get in that. In fact, I need to get in that right now. Show me where it is and how the controls work. Will you be alright for a little while, Bill?"

Billy laughs.

"Yeah. You go ahead. Greg, you should get in it as well. You could do with relaxing. Keep your hands off him though, John. I've heard about you soldiers…no naked bodies, Greg."

The three of them laugh. Billy pats himself dry and pulls the sheepskin around himself. Settles down to sleep for another hour or so. It is still early. He will talk to Mycroft a little later on.

*********

Lestrade shows Watson where the hot tub is, turns the water on and sets the thermostat.

"Turn this switch when the water reaches that fill line, John. I'm going to make coffee and check on Mycroft and Jackie."

Mycroft is in the study, still reading.

"This is fascinating, Gregor. It's extremely well written. I've found one or two typos and a couple of errors in diagram numbering, but otherwise it's fine. Bill can submit it for assessment today with no fears about its quality. How is he? I heard noises a while ago…"

"He woke up hurting from where he'd got kicked. John's sorted him out. I'm going to make coffee, and John's going to try out the hot tub. There's plenty of room if you want to join him. "

"Ah. No, thank you. I'm going to lie down on the day bed here, get some sleep, I think. Inspector Logan might like to try it, though. Why don't you ask him?"

"Yeah. I'll do that. Mycroft, Billy will get his PhD, won't he? It will break him if he doesn't."

"I don't foresee any problems, Gregor. Tell him to wear a suit for his Viva. University examination boards can be a little fussy."

Mycroft smiles.

"So. An engagement? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I think I probably had feelings for him before this little jaunt…"

He looked at Mycroft, narrowing his eyes.

"You knew. You knew, you bugger, before I did…"

"Did you think you could hide an interest in one of Sherlock's network from him? You may not have recognised your feelings for Bill, Gregor, but Sherlock did. He kept an eye on you both. He knew Bill was important, of course. When are you planning to marry? And where?"

"We haven't planned anything yet. We only got engaged yesterday. I'll talk to him once he's got his thesis sent off. "

Lestrade leaves the study, walks downstairs to the living room. Logan is just waking, stretching.

"Morning, Jackie. I'm just going to make coffee. Want some?"

"Aye. Thanks. Um. Mycroft was here earlier…"

"Yeah. He's proof reading for Billy. John's got the hot tub going on the balcony. Want to join us? Get the kinks out of our spines. Billy's given me strict instructions that there's to be no naked frolics."

He laughs.

"Underpants are the order of the day. I can lend you some dry ones for after."

"Hot tub? Aye. Just the thing. I'll help you carry the coffees"

*********

"I love this house, Greg. How can you bear the thought of leaving it?"

Watson is in heaven. The hot tub has eased his aches and pains. He had climbed in wearing his red y-fronts and immersed himself up to his shoulders in the hot water, sighing with relief. The view of his scottish companion in his underpants hasn't done any damage to his mood, either. Logan has peeled off his uniform and followed John into the tub, snug navy blue jersey shorts preserving his modesty, somewhat.

Lestrade hesitates. His white underpants are guaranteed to turn transparent when wet. He scrabbles in his underwear drawer, finally finding the striped cotton boxer shorts he had worn on the day he had left London. They will do.

The air is cold, threatening snow, but the tub is deep enough for all three men to slide down until the hot water reaches their necks.

"Yeah. It's great. Mycroft fitted it out, you know. He's made it perfect for Billy. And for me. He's been really thoughtful. I'll need to look for somewhere in London to do up for Billy and me when we go back. Unless Billy decides to stay here, of course. The university have already said they can give him work, and when he's got his doctorate, he'll be an asset to the science department. If he stays, I'll just go back to my flat in Peckham. Commute at weekends. I've got to go back to the Yard…"

"Greg. You don't really think he'd stay on here without you, do you? I agree your flat would be a bit of a come-down after this… No offence, mate, but you know… you could have fun doing up a place. And you know what your job's like. What if there was a big messy murder and you were stuck up here? Dimmock getting all the credit…"

"Dimmock's all right. He's one of the few people who stayed in touch when I was suspended. But you're right. I've got to go back. Have to make it worth Billy's while to go back with me. "

"And there's universities in London, surely?" Logan has never been to London, has no idea of how big it is.

"Yeah. I don't know what he wants to do. Need to talk to him. Don't know if I could afford to buy anything in London. Even if I sell my flat. "

Lestrade closes his eyes, changes the subject.

"So, Jackie. You and Mycroft?"

"He's a man who knows what he wants…"

Logan laughs

"I've no expectations there. Wouldn't say no, though."

"At least there's one Holmes prepared to make a move. His brother… Sorry, John."

"It's all right, Greg. I don't think of him so often, now. And he was always prepared to make a move on you. You had a hard job keeping him out of your pants. Can't believe we all thought you were straight."

"Sorry? You thought this one was straight? Are you blind?"

"Before I moved in here with Billy, even I thought I was straight, Jackie. I had a wife for ten years…"

"So what happened?"

"I've known Billy for a bit over three years. He was a squatter on my patch when I was a DI, one of Sherlock's homeless mob. He'd give me the occasional tip-off, but he wasn't a nark. He was always on his own. I guessed he was really lonely. I worried about him, bought him the occasional pie and mash. I'd drop into his squat if there was a thunderstorm. He was terrified of them. Really terrified. I'd put my arm round his shoulders, give him a hug, but never thought…he used to slouch around in sweat pants and a hoodie. Wouldn't look me in the eye. Never looked clean. Filthy hair. Always needed a shave. Looked like a junkie, even though I knew he was wasn't using. I never realised how tall he was. How pretty. Or how clever. You should hear him play the guitar, see his drawings. Sometimes it makes me breathless just thinking about how much he seems to love me. And I do love him. I really do. It just doesn't seem quite real. On our first night here, he said he felt like he was in a play, but no one had bothered to give him his script. It feels like that. "

"Sound to me as if you've been dancing round the edges of this ever since you've known him…"

"Yeah. And you'd know, wouldn't you, John?"


	13. La La Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy starts off in a sharp suit and ends in one soaking wet boot. In between there are flowers, love songs and filthy food.

December 4th: two years after The Fall

 

"Are you sure I look okay?"

"You look gorgeous, Billy."

Lestrade kisses Billy's ear, smiling around him into the mirror. Billy has taken Mycroft's advice to heart, has dressed soberly, for him, in preparation for his Viva Voce examination.

He has chosen a black wool/silk mix suit; narrow trousers, high-collared jacket. Underneath, a vivid turquoise Nehru-collared slubbed silk shirt picks up the glints of aqua in his eyes, and takes the edge off the black. Black cashmere socks, to keep his feet warm, black Cuban-heeled boots, adding two more inches to his six foot four. He wears all his rings, Lestrade's diamond alone on his left hand.

He has shaved carefully, had his hair trimmed the day before, still shaggy, manga-style. Is wearing the merest, almost subliminal, touch of Ajaccio Violets.

"I'm glad you didn't go for the white shirt. You would have looked like a priest. Not that that would be a bad look on you. You'd look good in a soutane. Over jeans and a baggy cotton shirt…."

Lestrade shivers, closing his eyes, feeling slightly blasphemous.

"Right then, let's go" He takes Billy's elbow, steers him to the front door, out to Logan's waiting patrol car.

 

*********

Lestrade is frozen. He had come back for Billy after two hours, has been waiting in the courtyard for another hour and a half. _How long does a Viva take, for heaven's sake?_ The courtyard door opens, and Billy steps out, blinking in the cold afternoon sunlight. His face is pale, and he shakes a little, looks around blearily, sags in relief as Lestrade grabs his shoulders.

"Okay, Billy?"

"Yeah. Thank god it's over. I never want to have to do that again. The questions were really complex. They'd really read the thesis thoroughly. I answered everything, though. I hope I did well enough to convince them I've made an original contribution to the field. That's what it's all about."

Lestrade wraps his arm round Billy's waist, walks him the few hundred yards to the bar where Logan, and by all the stars, Mycroft, holding a huge, messy bouquet of Christmas roses and mistletoe, are waiting.

"These are for you, Bill."

"Thanks, Mr H. They're lovely. No one's ever given me flowers before…"

He smiles tearfully. The examination has been a bit of a strain.

Mycroft has ordered champagne. Lestrade goes to the bar and comes back with bottled Guinness and pint glasses, mixes himself a black velvet, pouring Guinness into a quarter pint of champagne from a height, producing thick, crunchy froth. Billy looks delighted.

"Can I have one of those, too?"

Lestrade grins, pours another.

"You know what we need to eat with this? Seafood. Cockles, mussels, brown shrimps…"

Logan laughs.

"I'll go and have a chat with the landlord. He owes me a favour."

Lestrade goes to the jukebox in the corner of the bar. Selects a tune. There is already a queue of songs, it will be a little while before his comes on.

Lestrade, Billy and Mycroft make small talk until Logan returns with the landlord and a platter of seafood on ice. As well as the shrimps, cockles and mussels, there are crab claws and oysters, all dressed with dill and samphire, accompanied by pots of flavoured vinegar. Billy laughs, edging up close to Lestrade.

"Filthy food and black velvet. This is brilliant, Greg".

Lestrade hooks an arm around Billy's waist, drawing him in close. As his jukebox selection begins to play, he sings, growling breathily into Billy's ear

 _" All I'm saying /_ _pretty baby. / La la love you. / Don't mean maybe."_

 

*********

Lestrade sprawls naked on his back on the big bed, eyes half-open, watching Billy, who is standing looking out into the dark garden.

They had gone to bed a couple of hours earlier. The sex had been great, if one-sided as always. Lestrade had fallen asleep, exhausted. Woke hours later, disturbed by something, he couldn't say what.

"Something on your mind?"

Billy jumps. He hadn't realised Lestrade was awake. He turns away from the window, his face shadowed.

"God. You're beautiful. Come back to bed. I want to feel that skin all over me…"

Billy smiles. Pads across the room and climbs on to the bed. He holds a small tub of Vaseline in his hand.

"Greg. I want you to…you know…"

Lestrade feels as if all his birthdays have come at once. He grins, licking his lips, trying to calm the butterflies that suddenly erupt into flight in his belly.

"Okay. Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's time, don't you think? Your turn…"

" I wasn't keeping count, love. Come here, then".

Billy lies down on his belly, shivering as Lestrade gently strokes along his spine, over his buttocks, down his legs, back up again, stroking his inner thighs. He kisses along his spine bones, along the whole length of his tattoo; gently bites his ankle, knee, hip; runs his tongue over the dimples above his buttocks.

"All right?"

"All right."

Lestrade takes the Vaseline from Billy, dips his fingers into it, spreads Billy's buttocks apart, presses against the tight ring of muscle.

Billy tenses, all sharp corners.

"Relax, Billy. Remember when you first did this to me? You have to relax…"

Billy whimpers, breathes, panting breaths, pushes against Lestrade's finger, trying to help as it pushes in.

"That's good, Billy. That's good, love. I'm going to push in a bit more now"

He does, Billy clenching around his finger.

"Try to bear down, Billy. Try to push my finger out. Sounds weird, but it will help."

Billy breathes out through his mouth, pushes against the intruding finger, moaning as it pushes all the way in.

"Okay. That's good. Relax for a moment. I'm going to move a bit…"

Billy groans as Lestrade gently moves his finger out, in, pressing against his prostate by accident more than intention.

"Oh."

"That feel good?"

"Yeah. Do it again, please?"

"Okay. Um. I probably need to use two fingers, love. Stretch you a bit? I'm not sure you're ready for my cock yet…"

"All right"

Lestrade spreads more Vaseline on his fingers, pushes in two. Hopes he is doing it right. Billy yelps. Tenses again.

"All right, love?"

"Stings"

"Yeah. It did for me as well. But it wears off. You'll stop noticing it after a while"

"Okay"

Billy forces himself to relax, breathes through his mouth, bears down on Lestrade's fingers. Moves with Lestrade as he pushes in deep, pressing gently on Billy's prostate. Reaches back to grasp Lestrade's cock. Moans as he feels how hard it is.

"Greg. That will never go in there…it's too fat."

"It will, Billy. I'll be careful. Let's just do this for a while. "

"Okay. This is okay. This is good"

Billy relaxes into the movement, little moans escape as Lestrade thrusts his fingers in, out, gently, then a little harder. They are both hard, both needy.

"Try now"

"Sure?"

"Yes. Please"

"Okay"

Lestrade smears Vaseline on his cock. Scrambles between Billy's thighs, his arm under Billy's waist, lifting him up a little. He draws his fingers out, pushes the tip of his cock against the ring of still-tense muscle.

"Relax, Billy. Push down."

Lestrade pushes the head of his cock in a little, past the sphincter. Billy whines. He pushes in a bit further. Billy sobs.

"It hurts, Greg. Oh, it hurts. It burns. Stop. Please…"

"Billy. Please. Just a little deeper. Please, love. It won't hurt for long. Please…"

Lestrade begs, desperate.

"I can't, Greg. You have to stop. Please. Please stop."

Lestrade draws on every reserve he has. Stops. Withdraws carefully. Kisses Billy's shoulder. Climbs off the bed.

He pulls on the first clothes he finds. Goes downstairs and rummages for his leather jacket in the hall, shrugs it on. Leaves the house, closing the door quietly behind him.

He walks for a long time, smokes several cigarettes, ends up down at the beach.

Sits on the sand, clasps his arms round his knees and howls, not caring if anyone hears him. Puts his head down on his knees and sobs his heart out.

 

*********

 

Billy cries a bit. Waits a while for Lestrade to come back to bed, finally realises he isn't going to.

Dawn is breaking as he gets up to go and look for him.

He goes to the bathroom, wipes himself with a soft flannel. Checks. No blood. A little ache, but nothing more. His cock is still half hard. He has a headache starting.

" _Stupid, stupid_ "

It would have been all right. He just needed to be braver. To trust Lestrade wouldn't brutalise him.

He gets dressed, goes downstairs. No sign of Lestrade in any of the rooms. No sign in the garden. He notices the leather jacket is missing. He's gone out then. Where?

He texts. Hears the ping of Lestrade's phone on the kitchen table.

" _Damn_ "

He walks out into the cold dawn. Past the houses, along the little high street. The chemist is open. He ducks in and buys some adult calpol sachets. Rips one open and drinks it down. On the spur of the moment, he picks up a tube of peppermint flavoured lube and a pocket pack of Kleenex. Pays and thrusts them into the pocket of his coat.

The tobacconist next door is just pulling up his shutters. He buys a disposable lighter and cigarettes. Lights one, revelling in the head rush. He really needs something stronger, but has no idea where to go in this little town. _Just as well_ , he thinks. In Camden he would have been on the way to getting high by now.

He carries on, down to the beach. Kicks his way along the shingle. Sees Lestrade, head on his knees.

"Greg. Greg, love. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, Billy. It was too soon."

Lestrade pulls Billy into a hug.

"You've been smoking."

"You too. I was worried. You left your phone…"

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"It wasn't too soon. I should have trusted you."

Billy leans over to kiss Lestrade, who loses his balance. They both end up sprawled on the sand, Lestrade on his back under Billy.

It is obvious that they are both still aroused. Billy runs his hand gently over Lestrade's trouser zip, pushing it open. Fire washes through Lestrade, and he groans, deep in his chest. He pulls Billy into a deep kiss, tongues and teeth clashing, bodies shaking.

"Oh, god, Billy. Don't. I don't think I'd be able to stop…"

"I won't want you to stop."

Billy pushes the front of Lestrade's pants down a little, smiling as his cock is exposed. Hard, despite the cold air. He stands, unbuttons his coat, pushes his own jeans and pants down. Frowns, pulls one boot off, pulls one leg free of clothing. He kneels, straddling Lestrade. Fumbles in his pocket for the lubricant he's bought.

"I want you to finish what you started. I know it will hurt, and I don't care. We can use this. It's peppermint flavour…"

Lestrade's eyes are fully dilated, his breathing coming fast as Billy spreads the lube on his cock, then rubs some around his own anus. Billy grasps Lestrade's cock, guiding it, then sinks down onto it, breathing hard, bearing down.

"Oh, god, Billy. What…Why?"

"I shouldn't have stopped you. I should have trusted you. It hurt you the first time, didn't it? Help me, Greg. Push, please."

Lestrade pushes his hips up as Billy bears down on him. Pushes harder, moans, pushes again until he is completely inside a man for the first time in his life. Inside his lover.

Billy groans, leans down, kisses him, drags his mouth across his jaw, fastens his mouth on his neck and bites down hard, sucking, trying to bruise. Lestrade moves his hips, bucking into Billy, who moves with him, riding him into orgasm. He sees stars, hears rushing in his ears, tries not to faint with the ecstasy. He grasps Billy's cock, sliding his hand in rhythm with his hips, finally shouts his lover's name as they both climax together.

Billy collapses, sobbing, onto Lestrade's chest.

"Billy, Billy. Don't cry love, please."

"I'm not crying…"

"You are, love…"

"I'm happy".

"Me, too. Um. My arse is wet."

"What?"

"My arse is wet. The tide's coming in. Billy. We need to get up, the tide's coming in, love."

"I don't think I can move. My legs are jelly."

Billy lifts himself off Lestrade, collapsing in the shallow surf beside him. Lestrade laughs, rolls over and grabs him in a bear hug, soaking them both before kissing him and dragging them both to their feet. Knee deep in the sea.

"God, look at the state of us. Grab your boot before it gets washed away. Come on, we need to get above the tideline."

They run as far as the steps up to the promenade where they are safe from the incoming tide. They are both shivering with cold. Lestrade zips his jeans, grimacing at the very obvious semen stains. Billy is a picture. Jeans and pants falling down one leg. The other leg naked, his cock wrinkling in the cold. Lestrade grins.

"Wish I'd brought my phone. That's a brilliant picture".

"Shut up you. Help me, I can't feel my foot"

Lestrade helps Billy to dress. Shakes his boot out, laughing as a small crab falls out and scuttles away.

"Good job you didn't just put that on. I hope no one sees us. It's obvious what we've been doing…"

"It's obvious what you've been doing. I might just have been paddling."

"Yeah, right".

Billy takes his coat off. They both shudder with the cold.

"Here. Put this on and do it up. It'll cover the evidence. I'll wear your jacket. If we walk fast, we should be able to warm up a bit. Look in the pocket. Are my cigarettes still dry?"

Miraculously, they are. Lestrade lights two, passes one to Billy.

"I think this coat must have been waterproofed."

"Well, it is a naval officer's coat… "

The voice makes them both jump.

"Mycroft. What the hell?"

Lestrade is on the defensive. _What has he seen_?

"Inspector Logan's house is just over there. I'm staying with him for a few days. I like the beach in the early morning, it's usually quiet. There aren't usually grinning idiots romping in the surf. Come in and get warm, before you both develop hypothermia." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Pixies, and I can absolutely hear Lestrade singing a gruffer version of[this song](http://youtu.be/vnx3lzPIZ6U)


	14. An unwelcome visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disruption and mayhem ensue when a visitor arrives unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was inevitable…

December 23rd/24th: two years after The Fall

 

"There. That's it. Switch on and let's see what it looks like."

Lestrade stretches, cracks his shoulders. Billy throws a switch and the room is lit with warm, twinkling lights.

"It's perfect,Greg. I've never had a Christmas tree before. I love it".

"You have to have a tree, Billy. I'd have had more colours, I was a bit worried it would be too plain with no tinsel and just white lights, but all those glass teardrops make it really glittery. You've got a good eye. Come here and give me a Christmas kiss."

Billy leans into Lestrade, kissing him gently, then more fiercely as the inspector responds.

"Are you sure you don't mind me going out tonight, Greg?"

Billy and his fellow postgrads have finished marking their classes' exams, and have decided to go out for an end-of-term celebration.

"No. As long as you're not too late back. I've got a couple of things to sort out here, and you don't have many opportunities to go out with people of your own age. It's good that you don't need a bodyguard now. I'd put a real damper on your evening."

"Okay then. I won't be late. And I promise not to get drunk."

 

*********

Lestrade finishes wrapping Billy's Christmas present and stands it under the tree. He has enjoyed the evening with John Watson, who has come back to Scotland for Christmas.

Lestrade thinks it must be better for the doctor to be be here than holed up in Baker Street on his own, but he is a little surprised that it is Mycroft Holmes who brought him. He isn't at all surprised that Mycroft came, or that he is currently staying in a house near the beach, without Watson. The British Government has been seeing quite a bit of a certain scots policeman in recent weeks.

The evening has been companionable, mates chatting, drinking rather more scotch than was good for them.

Watson has gone to sleep on the sofa. Lestrade covers him with a couple of knitted blankets and decides to go to bed himself. Billy has keys, he can let himself in.

He undresses, snuggles into the big bed and, though he had planned to stay awake to wait for Billy, the warmth of the sheepskin and the effect of the alcohol soon send him to sleep.

After a while, the feel of a soft, nude body makes him smile in his sleep. He shifts over, tangling one hand in the unruly black hair, kissing the bony shoulder gently. Slender, cool hands stroke him back down into sleep.

 

*********

Billy is a little tipsy, but not drunk. He had stayed longer in the bar than he had meant to, and isn't surprised that the house lights are out when he gets home. Watson and Lestrade must be asleep.

He lets himself in quietly, creeping upstairs so as not to disturb the doctor or the chief inspector. Freezes as he reaches the bedroom.

Two bodies are twined together on the bed. Lestrade is asleep, wearing the dopey smile he wears when he is happy. One hand is twined into dark curls. The other arm is wrapped around his bed-fellow's waist.

Billy stares. His breath catches. The stranger hears him and looks up, smiles lazily.

"No. You're dead."

Billy turns and runs. Out of the house, down the street, not looking where he is going. He runs and runs, stumbling, sobbing for breath, blinded by tears. Runs into the road and is jerked out of the path of a lorry by a hard, muscled arm in a navy blue police tunic.

"Bill? What the hell are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?"

Billy's legs give out. He collapses into a heap in the road, grabbing inspector Logan round the knees and sobbing.

"Sherlock. Sherlock and…"

"Wait. Mycroft's brother Sherlock? The one who died? What about him?"

"Not…Not dead.I have to speak to Mycroft…"

"Aye, okay lad. I'm finishing my shift now. I'll take you."

 

*********  

Mycroft is waiting for them in the kitchen of Logan's house.

"You knew. You had to have known."

"I take it you've seen Sherlock, Bill?"

"Yeah. Seen him. Been sneered at by him…definitely seen him. With Greg…"

He breaks off. Runs to the sink. Vomits. Tries to breathe through great, gasping sobs.

"I'm not… I can't go back to that house. You brought me here, you can find me somewhere. I can't…I can't go back to Camden either. My squat'll have been taken. And I'll be on the needle five minutes after getting off the train. Help me…"

"Bill. Think for a moment. How will running away help you? Or Gregor? Think about him for a moment. He loves you. I am very sure of that. Seeing Sherlock must have been even more of a shock for him than it was for you…"

"Don't think so. He didn't find him naked in bed with his fiancé… "

"Ah."

Mycroft, for once, is nonplussed.

"Where was John?"

"He was there when I went out…I didn't see him when I came back. Why would Sherlock go to Mister Lestrade?"

"My brother and Lestrade have had an… association… for a long time. It predates his association with John by a number of years. Lestrade was always fond of my brother. I hadn't thought it was a sexual, or even romantic relationship, though.  Bill, if you wish, I will make arrangements for you to go back to London, but I strongly suggest that you wait a little while before deciding."

"You can stay here with me, lad. While you get your head straight. Wait till after Hogmanay before you make your mind up what to do. Get your Viva results."

"I don't know, Mr Logan…"

"Let Mycroft talk to his brother and Greg. Clarify the situation."

Logan can recognise fear when he sees it. Sees it naked in Billy's eyes. Fear of being alone. Fear of relapsing. Fear of being no one again. He sees anger, too.

"Mycroft talk to Sherlock? Be interested to see that happen. You haven't seen those two together. They don't know how to talk…"

 

*********

Lestrade wakes, stretches, feels bare skin beside him, turns towards the smooth, cool body, smiles. Runs his hand over the bony back, fingers registering welts and scars. _Welts? Scars?_ He opens his eyes.

"Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You're dead. **_Fuck_**. Where's Billy? Oh, god. **_Fuck_**."

"Rather a lot of fucks for first thing in the morning, Gavin…"

Blue-green eyes stare at him from six inches away, from a too thin, chiselled face that is horribly familiar.

"Greg. And that's not been funny for a long time. What are you doing in my bed? Oh, God, why are you naked? Why aren't you dead? And _WHERE'S BILLY_?"

"Billy Wiggins? He popped in earlier. Didn't stay long. Less than a minute, actually. Didn't even say hello. You were asleep…"

"I was asleep? Oh, fuck. I dreamed I was… oh, fuck. Were we…? _Tell me we weren't_ …Oh, fuck. Fuck. Where did he go?"

"No idea. Does it matter?"

"Yes Sherlock. It matters."

Lestrade tries to get up, finds himself held down by Sherlock, who is smiling happily, having finally got his inspector where he wants him. He struggles, losing his temper. Eventually resorts to punching the younger man to make him let go.

"Lestrade. That hurt."

"Good. Now let me up. I've got to find Billy."

"Why do you keep going on about Billy? I thought you'd be pleased I'm here…"

"Where Billy ought to be."

Sherlock laughs.

"You and _Billy Wiggins_? Really, Gareth…"

He laughs again. And is shocked into silence when Lestrade punches him again. In the mouth this time, drawing blood.

Lestrade dresses hurriedly. Phones Billy. Straight to voicemail. Phones Logan.

"Jackie. I need to find Billy. Can you help me?"

"Aye, Greg. He's here. He doesn't want to talk to you."

"I'm coming over. Is Mycroft there? Tell him his _arsehole_ of a brother is back from the dead. No. Scratch that. I expect he already knows."

"Aye. He knows. So does Bill…"

"Yeah. I got that."

Lestrade thinks for a moment. Walks downstairs to the sitting room. Watson is asleep on the sofa.

"Wake up, mate. I need you."

"What is it? Problem? Medical?"

"A bit. Might be a death if I go back up there."

Watson raises an eyebrow. Gets up and climbs the stairs.

Lestrade grimaces. This probably won't be pretty.

 

*********

"You fucker. You _fucking_ fucker."

" _John_?"

Sherlock is shocked. He hadn't known Watson was in the house.

"John? What are you doing here, John?"

"Staying with Greg and Bill for Christmas. At least I was. Did you jump Greg while he was drunk? Was he asleep? He must have been. He's spent _years_ not getting involved with you. And he loves Bill too much to… Did he punch you? Where's Bill? I hope he stayed out all night…"

"Um. He came home. Didn't stay long. John. If I'd known you were here…"

"Too intent on getting into Greg's knickers to look around. That's not like you, Sherlock. You're slipping. Get dressed. You've got some explaining to do."

Sherlock grabs at Watson.

"John. John, I…"

Watson punches him.

"Let go. Get dressed. We're going to talk to your brother."

 

*********

"Where is he, Jackie?"

"In the garden. He won't be pleased to see you, Greg."

"I need to talk to him, Jackie. Please."

Logan shrugs, points the way to the garden. Billy is sitting on the brick retainer wall of a raised flower bed, smoking his umpteenth cigarette, shaking with fear, hurt, anger. He looks up as Lestrade approaches warily.

"Billy. I don't know what you saw. I wouldn't…"

He gasps as Billy punches him in the stomach. Doubles over, face first into Billy's other fist. Feels his jaw crack, the hot metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth.

Billy grabs his hair, pulls him up, eyes level with his own, fastens his mouth on Lestrade's ruined one, kisses hard, hurting.

"I saw Sherlock being Sherlock. I want to hurt him, Mister Lestrade. You got here first. I'm sorry. He had no right… You looked happy…"

He drops his hands, pulls away, tears running down his face.

"I love you so much. I can't bear to lose you. Not to him…"

"You haven't lost me, Billy. I was asleep. Dreaming. Waiting for you. I thought it was you….you're my only… I'm so sorry."

He wraps his arms around Billy, kissing his neck, wincing at the pain in his mouth and jaw, leaving blood everywhere he touches.

"I'm so sorry".

"You need to get that mouth looked at. Might need stitches."

Billy's voice is shaky. He stands, taking Lestrade's hand, pulling him roughly into the hallway of Logan's small house. Hears voices from the kitchen. Opens the door to the sight of Sherlock, dripping blood onto the floor, bruises flowering on his face.

"Billy…"

"That's Dr Wiggins to you I believe, brother dear."

" _DOCTOR_ Wiggins? Since when?"

"Since this morning, when his results were announced. Bill, congratulations."

"Um. Thanks Mr H. I haven't heard anything yet. Are you sure?"

Mycroft smiles, the smile morphing into a look of concern as he sees Lestrade over Billy's shoulder.

"I think you've had your phone switched off. Check your messages. Gregor, what happened to you?"

"Billy happened."

"Ah. You need to talk, I expect…"

"Yeah. No. I don't know…"

Lestrade turns to Billy.

"Well done, Doctor, love."

Billy's doesn't turn to look at Lestrade. His voice is flat.

"Thanks, Mister Lestrade. Mr H, my phone's out of charge. Can you call Dr Watson? Mister Lestrade's mouth needs looking at."

"No need, Bill. I'm here."

Watson's voice comes from behind the kitchen door. Tense and angry.

"Let's have a look, Greg. Ouch, that looks sore…"

"Um, John. Shouldn't you be patching up Sherlock? He looks a bit of a mess. I didn't do all that. I'm sure I only landed two…"

"The others were me. I'm waiting until everyone who needs to hit him has hit him. No sense in opening up stitches." "

Oh, is that why you're waiting?"

Sherlock is using his best supercilious voice. Only a slight trembling gives away his hurt.

"Come on then. Billy. Sorry. _DOCTOR_ Wiggins. I'm sure you'd like to add to this mess."

"No, Shezz. I'll make do with Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade. If I hit you, I won't be able to stop until you're dead again."

"Detective _CHIEF_ Inspector Lestrade? More congratulations. Has anyone else got news for me? Mycroft?"

"Well, brother dear. We did have a wedding in the pipeline, but you may have ruined that. Actually, I think that hurting two of my good friends deserves a little more than verbal castigation…"

The room goes silent as a loud slap echoes. Sherlock's head rocks and his mouth bleeds again where Mycroft has backhanded him. His eyes open in shock.

"Mycroft…"

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I know you've been lonely. Why didn't you go to John?"

"I didn't know he was here. I didn't know Lestrade was seriously attached to Billy . You told me he was his bodyguard…"

"John, could you look at my brother's face when you've finished with Gregor? If you think he needs painkillers, ask me. Don't give him codeine. I have something better. "

"I'd prefer morphine…"

"I'm sure you would. But we have already had this discussion, Sherlock. Morphine is not an option."

Billy glares at Mycroft.

"You're using it, aren't you? How long?"

"Just under a year. Carefully. Not continuously. Think of it as a corroborative trial. It works very well, although my brother would prefer a narcotic for personal reasons…"

Billy frowns as his mind absorbs what Mycroft says.

"Why did you give me my thesis back? If you were already using it? "

Mycroft has the grace to blush.

Sherlock shrugs.

"It was only fair that you should receive the credit you deserved for developing it. I insisted…"

The room goes silent again as the significance of Sherlock's words sink in. Lestrade frowns.

"We came here in August. Mycroft, you had to be planning well before that…"

"I started putting things in train more than two years ago, when Sherlock first told me about Dr Wiggins's research. It sounded like a product that would be very useful for someone like my brother, who has addictive reactions to morphine. I carried on looking after his…disappearance, shall we say. I found the papers just under a year ago, and had a trial batch of the drug manufactured, which Sherlock made use of."

He looks at Billy. 

"It has been very difficult to maintain secrecy. We had to keep the existence of a further trial quiet. The drug could not be licensed until you had completed your work. There were people who would wish to suppress it. That was why I didn't arrange for you to return to Cambridge, Bill. For all my care, it seems there was still a leak. Knox's friends must have got their information from somewhere."

"You manufactured a batch of this a year ago? You've known he was alive for a year?"

Watson is pale, quiet, dangerous.

"Actually…"

"No, Sherlock. Do not tell me that your brother knew you were alive the whole time. Don't tell me that. Not now. Well talk about this later."

Watson quietly and deliberately walks out of the house, stays out for an hour. When he returns, his expression is guarded, his breath smells of whisky. His hand is absolutely steady as he finally attends to Sherlock's cuts and bruises.

Mycroft is mortified by the whole sequence of events. He had hoped to introduce Logan to his brother under much better circumstances. He expects to be lonely again after the revelations of the morning.

"Inspector Logan, I'm sorry we've disrupted your morning. I'll look for alternative accommodation later."

"No need, Mycroft. I've a spare room in the attic your brother can use. If he wants to. And if you want to stay…"

The relief in Mycroft's voice is very plain as he grips Logan's hands.

"Thank you, Jack. I would very much like to stay. And your offer would keep Sherlock out of Bill's hair. And Gregor's."

"I'll stay here with him if that's all right, Jackie."

Watson's voice is quiet and flat.

"John? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I know how to deal with him."

 

*********

"I need to go back to London. I feel disorientated. I'd just got my head around the script and now they've taken it away and given me a new one. Written in Chinese or something. I need to find a job. Find somewhere to stay. Get some more ink. I really need to get some more ink, soon. Or you need to hit me. Why didn't you hit me back?"

Billy sits opposite Lestrade in the kitchen of their house, in a corner of the bench, cushions piled around him, the big kitchen table between them. Lestrade thinks he looks as if he has barricaded himself in.

They had all spent most of the day at Logan's house, patching up wounds, arguing, crying.

Logan had been both fascinated and appalled at the amount of turmoil that one person could generate around himself. Had eventually banished Sherlock to the attic, instructing Watson not to let him downstairs again until he stopped behaving like a supercilious arse.

Mycroft had been apologetic to everyone, which had worried everyone except Logan, who still didn't know him terribly well.

Lestrade and Billy had sat in the garden, getting cold, trying to come to terms with events, reaching a very tenuous agreement.

Watson had diagnosed a probable fractured proximal phalanx in Billy's right hand, and had splinted it. Had decided that Lestrade's jaw probably wasn't fractured.

Mycroft had observed Lestrade and Billy carefully for several hours, made a decision and quietly handed Lestrade a tiny gift wrapped package labelled _*Bill and Gregor. Wish you were here. M*_ , reminding Lestrade of the postcard he'd had on the day he and Billy had travelled to Scotland.

"I didn't hit you back because I deserved it. I've got to go back to the Yard after New Year. We can go back together. You'll stay with me, won't you? "

"Dunno. Don't know if I can. You've only got a little flat. We'd be under each other's feet…"

"But. I thought…Billy. What are you telling me?"

"I'll ask The prof if he knows anyone who might give me work in London. He must have contacts. I could be a lab tech, I suppose. As long as I can earn enough to pay for a hostel I'll be alright."

"Billy. Please. You're not making sense. You don't need a hostel. You'll be living with me. Won't you?"

"I don't know, Mister Lestrade. Things have changed, haven't they? I frightened myself. I've never been angry enough to hit someone like that before. Not to hit first. If that's what I'm really like…I could have really hurt you."

"It's not what you're really like. You were provoked. I deserved it. You kissed me afterwards…are you leaving me, Billy? "

A wave of despair washes through Lestrade at the thought of losing his young lover.

"I don't want to. I love you. But if I can lash out like that…."

"You won't do it again. You won't ever have reason to do it again. I won't even work with him again."

"You will, though. He won't stay away from your crime scenes just because you don't want him there. You know that. And his brother will lean on you."

"I'll stick to desk work then. Like a proper DCI. Dimmock can take over the leg work. Sherlock's worked with him before."

"You'd hate it. You love crime scene work. You love chasing down villains. I've seen you in action, remember. I won't let you give that up for me. That wouldn't be right. You're a superhero. Defender of the people. Upholder of the law. It makes you…you."

"I've had years of practice not letting him get to me… it was one moment, Billy. I never asked for it. I was drunk, asleep. I'll never go to bed without you again, Billy. "

"That's just stupid. Don't make stupid promises. There'll be times when you're away, or I'm away, or you're working nights…I know I'll have to trust you. But it's hard today. I can't sleep in that bed, Mister Lestrade. I'll be able to feel him in it. "

"We can sleep on the sofa. It's big enough…It's just for a few days."

"Why do you still want me after I hit you?"

"I love you, Billy. I love you so much I could die of it. "

 

*********

Lestrade carries down throws and cushions from the study day bed, adds them to the ones already on the sitting room sofa.

"There. We'll be warm enough, I expect. I'll miss the sheepskin though"

Billy shudders.

"I can't sleep under it, Mister Lestrade. I'm sorry. We can get another one in London."

Lestrade dares to start hoping. He switches off the room light, leaves the twinkling tree lights on. Settles himself on the sofa. Weeps quietly with relief when Billy joins him, curls up, back against his belly. He covers them both with knitted throws, gently curling an arm around Billy's shoulder. Watches as the younger man's breathing slows and he sleeps.

The inspector is too tense to sleep himself. He is aware of Billy reverting to "Mister Lestrade" as he always does in times of stress. He wishes the day could be rewound.

He sighs, reaches for his phone from the floor where he has placed it, plugs in earbuds and searches his playlists for music to help him unwind.

"What are you listening to?"

Billy is awake, pulls one earbud out of Lestrade's ear, puts it in his own.

"Genesis"

_*Stay with me / My love I hope you'll always be / Right here by my side if ever I need you / Oh my love /*_

The song echoes Lestrade's mood. The chorus says it all.

_*I will follow you. Will you follow me? / All the days and nights that we know will be / I will stay with you. Will you stay with me? / Just one single tear in each passing year /*_

Billy smiles, a little tearful smile. He takes the phone away from Lestrade, turns and buries his face in his inspector's neck.

Lestrade wraps both arms around him and holds him tight until the dawn heralds Christmas Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say this isn't BBC-compliant. 
> 
> My Lestrade would have hugged him if he hadn't jumped into bed with him.


	15. Sea Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation. And some unusual presents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this story. But not the end of the story of Billy and Greg. Watch this space…

December 25th: two years after The Fall; two days after The Return

 

"Morning. Merry Christmas"

Lestrade whispers, his mouth against Billy's ear, sending a little shiver of pleasure through the younger man's body.

"Hello."

Billy pulls himself tighter against Lestrade's body, wrapping both arms around his waist.

"I want to stay here all day, but someone's banging on the door…"

Billy unwraps himself from Lestrade and goes to the front door, shivering in the cold air that blasts in from outside as he opens it. Lestrade sighs, pulls himself up from the sofa and goes to the kitchen.

"Merry Christmas, lad."

Logan peers at Billy through half-closed eyelids.

"Are you and himself okay? Thought I'd better come and check up on you. And get away from Holmeses for a while. I brought breakfast."

He waves a bottle and a small string bag. Billy laughs.

"Mycroft's all right on his own. But put him in the same room as Shezz and life gets unpleasant. How long are they staying with you? You'll be glad to see them go, I expect. Come in, Mr Logan. Mister Lestrade's in the kitchen."

Billy goes up to the study to find his iPod. The house needs music. Logan walks through to the kitchen, where Lestrade is firing up the Aga. The house had been left unheated for the whole of the previous day, and breath is fogging the air, even indoors.

"Merry Christmas, Greg. Are you two okay? I can't help noticing Bill's calling you 'Mister Lestrade'. A touch formal, that?"

"Hi, Jackie. Yeah. He does that when he's anxious or pissed off. I don't think he's conscious of it. Sometimes it's weird. The first time we… well, he was my first, and he knew it. Being called 'Mister Lestrade' by someone who's got his knob up your bum is a bit strange. He's still pissed off with me, of course, and irrationally upset about hitting me. But we're… we will be…fine."

Logan dumps his bag on the table.

"Okay then. I brought something to cheer us all up. Have you got shot glasses? And we'll need ice."

Lestrade raises an eyebrow. Finds three shot glasses, which Logan immediately puts into the freezer, along with the bottle of Stolichnaya vodka he has brought.

"Can you make us some toast, Greg? Thin as you can get it? Needs to be crisp."

Logan pulls a bag of ice cubes from the freezer, bashing it on the floor to separate the ice and crush it a bit. Billy pokes his head around the door, wondering what the noise is, smiles and comes right into the room, plugging his iPod into the media dock, settling himself into his usual corner of the bench and switching on the music. In Dulci Jubilo.

Logan grins.

"I like that."

"Yeah. Me, too. I was going to fire up the Strat, play along. But I forgot about my broken finger. No thrashing for me for a while. That might be a problem…"

Billy's eyes are shadowed. He's been having cravings since the early hours of the previous morning.

"Oh, gods. Billy…"

Lestrade belatedly realises what Billy had meant when he talked about needing to get more ink the day before.

"It's all right, Mister Lestrade. I'm coping with it. It'll wear off soon. Maybe I should play with a broken finger. That'll hurt…I think I'll go and have a cigarette."

Billy goes out to the garden. Logan narrows his eyes, raises an eyebrow questioningly at Lestrade.

"He was an addict, Jackie. Heroin. He's been clean for three years, but every so often he gets cravings. This Sherlock business has set him off. Usually, he thrashes his guitar and that takes the edge off. Good, hard sex can do it too, we've found out. Both of those are kind of out of the question today. His other way of dealing with it is through pain."

"Pain?"

Logan narrows his eyes.

"What sort of pain? I can't picture you as…"

"He's got a tattoo artist who hurts him enough… I can't do that for him. He wanted me to hit him back yesterday. I couldn't. I can't hurt him. We need to keep Sherlock away from him. He'll see what he needs and he'll get it for him. He's an artist at finding dealers. Billy's worked really hard at keeping clean, Jackie. I won't have him undermined now."

"He's an exotic thing, your Billy, isn't he? Strange and rare. Like an endangered orchid. The slightest little change in conditions could kill him. I've not noticed tattoos, though…"

"Just one tattoo. It's spectacular. Shoulder to ankle. He keeps it covered up. Most of the time. "

Lestrade takes toasted bread out of the grill, splits it through the centre. Puts it back, un-toasted sides up.

"Melba toast okay?"

"Perfect. Keep it hot. Call Bill back in. I'll get the rest of breakfast sorted."

Logan piles crushed ice on a big plate, sticks the bottle of Stolly in the ice, slightly off-centre, piles the cold shot-glasses next to it, takes a jar from his bag, unscrews it, sticks three spoons in the contents, and beds it down in the ice next to the vodka bottle.

Billy comes back from the garden, settles in his corner again. Cues up another song on the iPod. Solstice Bells. Smiles.

"What's this then, Mr Logan?"

"Beluga caviare, Bill. Bit of a tradition in my family for Christmas breakfast. They say the Tsar of Russia used to eat it from the body of his mistress…"

Lestrade dumps hot Melba toast in a pile on the table. Logan pours three shots of the ice cold vodka.

Billy smiles dreamily, picks up a spoonful of caviare, tastes it, dips his finger in the contents of the spoon, reaches across the table to Lestrade, who opens his eyes wide, then his mouth, sucking the caviare from Billy's finger, wincing as the saltiness stings the not-yet-healed cuts from Billy's rings. He reciprocates. Two fingers for Billy to suck. They both grin. Logan chokes on his vodka.

"Oh. My. God. That is the _dirtiest_ thing I have ever seen."

Billy laughs.

"Greg likes to see me eating filthy food. This is really filthy, Jackie."

Lestrade smiles. * _Greg*_

"Yeah. I think this could be the start of a new set of traditions for Wiggins-Lestrade Christmases."

He scoops up more caviare for Billy. Laughs, then eats some himself, from toast this time. Follows with cold shots of vodka for both of them.

"Wiggins-Lestrade. Yeah. That works for me. Mind you, I don't know how you're going to fit it all on your office door plate, Detective Chief Inspector Wiggins-Lestrade".

Lestrade laughs.

"Or you, Doctor Wiggins-Lestrade. How many letters have you got after your name now?"

"PhD; MSc; BSc. I won't use them all though. Only if I write a paper. I'll only need to do that if I get a research job. Oh. I must check my messages. Can you keep my seat warm while I get my phone, Greg?"

Lestrade grins. The shark is back. He moves around the table to sit in Billy's corner, one knee up against the back of the bench.

Logan laughs.

"You two are so transparent. And unbearably cute".

Billy comes back with his phone. Settles himself between Lestrade's knees. Lestrade wraps both arms around Billy's waist, leans in to nuzzle his neck. Billy cues another tune on the iPod, then opens his email folder. Gasps, and smiles as the Carol of the Bells starts playing.

"There's a message from the university. Confirmation of my PhD. And one from a Professor in the biomedical sciences department at Brunel. They've got a vacancy for a researcher that fits my profile. He knows my prof. He wants to meet me on January 6th…"

"Brunel. That's Uxbridge. Metropolitan line. Bit of a journey from Peckham."

"Academics don't do nine to five, Greg. I probably wouldn't need to travel in the rush hour. Or go in every day. Depends on the workload. Anyway, I might not even get it. It's good to get an interview so quickly, though."

"Yeah. I bet you get it. Clever sod."

Lestrade smiles, kissing Billy's ear.

"There's one from Mycroft. Asking if we liked our present. What present?"

"He gave me something for us yesterday. I forgot about it. Mesmerised by you eating caviare. Jackie, can you do me a favour and get the little parcel that's in my jacket pocket?"

Lestrade's cock is tingling where Billy's arse is pressed up against it. He doesn't want to move just yet.

Logan snorts. Goes out to the hallway and comes back with a small package. Hands it to Billy.

" _Bill and Gregor. Wish you were here_. That sounds familiar. Wait, that was on that postcard… what's he giving us? Not another secret mission? Here, Greg. You open it. I'm scared."

"Secret mission?"

Logan is intrigued.

"Yeah. Mycroft likes to play games. When we came up here we had no idea what was going on. I'd had mysterious instructions to get someone safely to Scotland. Didn't even know who at the time. Or why. I got an envelope with some keys and a postcard of St Andrews with this address on it. It just said _*Bill and Gregor. Wish you were here. M_ *…"

"Open it, man. It's like a spy film…"

Lestrade opens the parcel. Two key rings, with identical keys. The tag on one of the key rings has GPS coordinates. The other tag has one word. * _SeaGlass_ *

"What the hell? Sea glass? Wait. That's significant. Your rings are made of sea glass. Beautiful. Like your eyes…"

"Don't get sidetracked, Greg. I don't think this is about Bill's eyes."

Logan smiles at Billy, who blushes, closing his startling sea-glass eyes.

"SeaGlass. Capital S. Capital G. It's a name, Greg. Maybe it's keys to a beach hut somewhere."

Billy giggles.

"Maybe he thinks we should have somewhere on a beach to dry off after we've been for a romp in the surf."

All three men laugh hysterically.

"These keys are strange. Look. This one looks like a house key, but this one looks more like a car key. Wait, Greg. You've got GPS coordinates. You're a detective. Find out where this SeaGlass is."

Logan is enchanted. Lestrade opens google maps on his phone. Enters the GPS coordinates and waits while the map loads.

"It's Camden Lock. I think it's a boat, Billy."

"A boat? Why would he give us a boat? What can you do with a boat in Camden? Oh… a houseboat? Greg?"

"Yeah. With an engine, by the look of this key. Bloody hell, Billy. I need to talk to him. I can't accept this."

"I'd like to look at it. It might be nice to live on a boat. Maybe we could live on it in the summer… It would be my first actual home, Greg. The first one that was mine, not a squat, not living in someone else's…Talk to him. But don't just throw it back in his face. Please."

"Okay. I'll go and talk to him. Jackie. Can you stay here with Billy for a while?"

"Aye. Greg, I don't know Mycroft well, but I don't think he's a bad man. I think this is probably more important for Bill than it is for you. You have a home, remember? And you were talking about selling it to finance somewhere for the two of you…"

"Yeah. I won't make any unilateral decisions. I've got something I need to give to him anyway. He won a bet we had about some socks."

Lestrade runs upstairs to the bedroom. There is something else he can do for Billy today.

 

*********

"Greg. Happy Christmas, mate."

"Hello John. Present for you and Sherlock."

Lestrade heaves the rolled-up sheepskin off his shoulder, thrusting it into Watson's arms.

"Er. Thanks? Greg. Isn't this off your bed?"

"Yeah. Billy won't sleep under it now. I thought it'd be best if I got it out of the house. We slept on the sofa last night. Probably will now until we go back to London. Mycroft about?"

"Yeah. In the garden. Wait, Greg, what am I supposed to do with this?"

"Whatever you like, mate. I'm going to get a new one for me and Billy once we've got ourselves settled. They're great for sleeping under. It's just that that particular one has got the smell of Sherlock on it…"

Lestrade strides through the house and out into the garden.

"Happy christmas Mycroft. I've come to settle our sock bet."

He hands over a brown paper bottle bag. Mycroft raises his eyebrows at the contents.

"Tulliburdine 33 year old malt? This goes beyond our bet, Gregor. Thank you. Now, I'm sure that isn't the only reason for your visit. How is Bill?"

"Billy's fine. Delighted with the idea of living on a boat in Camden. Thinks it's romantic. What are you playing at, Mycroft?"

Lestrade bristles, eyes snapping with temper.

"Ah. It isn't as generous a gift as it looks, Gregor. At first, I toyed with the idea of giving it to Bill alone. But I thought you might misread that as an attempt to separate you…That is why I made it a joint gift. It is not meant in any way to undermine your abilities as a provider. No. Hear me out, please. If you had not been able to get over yesterday's difficulties I would have reverted to my original idea. Bill needs a home. There is a very long lease on the mooring."

"It's too much, Mycroft…"

"Gregor. I acquired the boat in payment of a debt. It is essentially a hulk. I have absolutely no use for it myself, and it would make next to nothing if I sold it at auction. The outside has been tarted up to meet the requirements of the moorings authority, but the inside is in a very sad state of repair. The engine needs a major overhaul. It is certainly in no fit state to be moved from its mooring. I have pictures here, which you may take to show to Bill. It needs plastering, caulking,shutters and floorboards replacing. It will make a very good project for Bill. It will keep him busy, stop him fixating on his craving for narcotics. I'm sure it isn't up to normal habitable standards at present."

"If it's not habitable, we'll have to live in Peckham until it is. Wait. If Billy and I had split up, you'd have given it to him? A squat he would own. I get it. Okay. Show me the pictures."

They go into Logan's kitchen, pull up chairs. Mycroft opens his laptop. There are dozens of images. Some of fine detail, some showing general layout. From outside, it looks like a well-maintained vessel, painted mainly white, but with accents of sea-glass colours. The front of the boat has a very small deck area and a wheelhouse. The rear has a larger deck, big enough to work as a patio, accessible from a narrow outside walkway. The centre is taken up with a large superstructure, with a small set of steps at one end, leading down. Inside, the boat is split into several main areas. At one end, under the wheelhouse, is a kitchen, equipped with a very sad-looking small range cooker and a small butler sink. A fifties-style kitchen cabinet, looking warped and water-damaged, is all the storage. Porthole windows to front and sides. There are close-up images of the cooker and cabinet.

"The cooker is probably the only thing on the boat worth anything. It would be best to replace that immediately. Sell it. There are specialist dealers…"

"No! We'll keep that and do it up. It looks almost exactly like the one my grandmère had…"

There is a large, empty space, with a short set of steps up to a small mezzanine deck, giving access to the wheelhouse from the inside of the boat. Floor to ceiling glazed doors on the centre of the port side, with battered wooden shutters, leading out to a second narrow walkway. Half height windows on the starboard. Battered wood-burner and chimney in the corner near the mezzanine. _It will make a fantastic sitting area. Bigger than the one in the house we're in_ , Lestrade thinks.

Plenty of head height in the main room. _Billy won't have to stoop_. Not so much height in the kitchen, but Billy isn't much of a cook. Photographs of details: jellymould light switches, fancy hooks in two places on the ceiling, a couple of metres apart, diagonally across one corner of the large room.

"What are the hooks for? Hanging plants? Light fittings?"

"Hammock fixings, I think. A spare bed."

Mycroft laughs.

"Please don't make me sleep in it if I visit."

There is a shower room and lavatory. In poor condition, but big enough to make a decent bathroom. Towards the stern of the boat, the space opens out into what is obviously a bedroom. The rear wall is completely glazed, with central French doors leading out onto the rear deck. Someone has started restoring this room. Shutters have been repaired and rehung. The floor is in good repair, and panes of glass have been replaced. There is more than enough space for a kingsize bed. Lestrade pictures a wrought iron bed with a sheepskin on it. Shivers. _Billy will love this_.

"Email me the pictures. I'll show them to Billy. Thank you for the gift, Mycroft. You know Billy will want to live in it as soon as he can? "

"Yes. I hope you will be comfortable too, Gregor. You have used very little of the expense account that was set up for you. Please use the rest of it for boat repairs. I would hate to have to give it back to the Treasury. If you allow me, I can get work started immediately for you. I have some connections…"

"Okay. You win. Merry Christmas. Are you going to open that bottle, or use it as an ornament?"

Mycroft laughs. Opens the bottle and pours two large glasses.

"Cheers, Gregor."

"Cheers."

 

*********

"I didn't get you a present. I was going to go shopping yesterday, and well…"

"It's all right, Billy. Having you here is enough of a present. Anyway, you gave me my ring…"

Billy and Lestrade have spent a quiet afternoon sitting on the sofa looking at pictures of the houseboat, discussing plans for the rooms. Lestrade absently kisses Billy on the corner of his mouth, wincing as he catches the edge of his split lip.

"Oh, Greg. I hit you in the mouth with a fistful of glass. Hard enough to break my finger. I'm so sorry…"

"Stop apologising. I said I deserved it. I got you a present."

He clambers over Billy and picks up a box from under the tree. Kneels on the floor beside the sofa.

"Here"

Billy sits up on the sofa, takes the parcel and turns it over to read the label. * _Billy. With love. Greg_ *

Lestrade's lashes glitter as Billy carefully unwraps a jeweller's box. He trembles as he watches Billy open it. He had been afraid that he wouldn't be in a position to give this gift.

"Oh."

Billy laughs.

"Put it on. I want to see what it looks like…"

Lestrade's voice breaks, and he swallows hard, a tear breaking away from his eyelashes and rolling down his cheek.

"It's beautiful. You are a big softy…"

Billy lifts the tiara out of the box, puts it in his unruly hair, a little crooked. Crystals, clear, pale citrine yellow, garnet, sparkle in the late afternoon light. He tips his head a little so he can kiss the bruised corner of Lestrade's mouth again.

"Take a picture. I want to see what it looks like"

"It looks incredible. I wasn't sure about the colours. Could have had just clear, or blues, like your eyes…"

Lestrade snaps a picture with his phone.

"It's the colours of your diamond. It's perfect."

"It's just crystals…"

"When did you do this?"

"Ordered it the day after I proposed. I collected it day before yesterday…"

"I want to get married…"

Lestrade crumples. He'd been holding himself together with willpower. Tension pours out of him as he sags against Billy's knees.

"Me, too. Please. When?"

"As soon as I've stopped being pissed off with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy won't stay pissed off at Greg for long. Who could?
> 
> Apologies for more "house beautiful" stuff. Can't help myself. I want to live on that boat. 
> 
> Billy's Christmas playlist:
> 
> Mike Oldfield: [ In Dulci Jubilo ](http://youtu.be/VCvz7uflMIU)
> 
> Jethro Tull: [ Solstice Bells ](http://youtu.be/6qcPS-J0HTg)
> 
> Metallica: [ Carol of the Bells ](http://youtu.be/uC3O_ztCWOM)

**Author's Note:**

> None of the canon characters originate with me. I'm just messing with them a bit. There will be a couple of new guys, who are mine. Not TV series compliant. I want Greg to be short for Gregor. It just sounds a bit more European. This is my first fic. Please be gentle with me.


End file.
